/7- 



MUTTERINGS 



AND 



MUSIIGS OF AI INVALID. 






NEW -YORK: 
PUPLISHED BY JOHN S. TAYLOR, 

No. 113 NASSAU STRKRT. 
M.D.CCC.1,1. 




/^ /r- 



^y^-4^-Ly. 



-^ % 



18S1 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by 

JOHN S. TAYLOR, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 
of New York. 



EDWARD O. JENKINS, 
No. 114 Niuuinii Sti-util, 



MUTTERINGS 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID 



Oh dear, another miserable, worthless day before 
me. How long is this loathsome farce to last? 
How long am I doomed to drag this contemptible 
carcass about the earth ? How many more weary 
months must I linger here, an eye-sore to my friends, 
a nuisance to myself? When, oh when, will the 
blessed day of release come, that I may go down 
quietly to my grave, and be resolved into my 
kindred dust ? Why, why was I ever permitted to 
see day-light? What right had my unthinking 
parents to inflict upon society such a wretch as I 
am ? Yes, 'twere far better for all concerned, that 
I were out of the way — the sooner the better — let 
me go then — box me up — pack me off — send me 
home — home, to my mother earth — without parade 
too — with as few vain words as possible — ^let me 
drop off, unheeded as a falling leaf But some hale 
and hearty looking friend will enter presently, 
1* 



10 MUTTERINGS AND 

picking his teeth, perhaps, after a substantial break- 
fast, and tell me that I am wrong, quite wrong, in 
feeling and talking thus — that it is ungTateful, sin- 
ful — that it is mere chicken-hearted whining — an 
unmanly shrinking from the wholesome trials, the 
needful discipline of life. Sir, I am not convinced — 
nor do I like the dictatorial tone of your remarks. 
Grumble I luill — it is the sick man's privilege. I 
wish to know why I am tormented thus? What 
vile offence must my poor soul have committed in 
some pre-existent state, that it has thus been con- 
demned to ignominious imprisonment in such a 
pitiful humbug of a body as this — look at me — 
what a lantern-jawed, guinea- visaged, hollow-eyed 
scarecrow have I become — a mere bag of soriy 
bones. Why, if I were cast ashore on a Cannibal 
island to-morrow, no respectable native would con- 
descend to eat me. Were I in a den of lions, I 
should feel perfectly safe, without faith ; they would 
scorn to lay their royal paws on such a paltry mor- 
sel. See that infernal, rascally, impertinent, truth- 
telling looking-glass; with what a quiet malice it 
confirms my statements — vile reminder of my 
wretchedness, let me dash it into ten thousand 
atoms — yes, let me hurl it at the head of that ob- 
streperous wretch who is even now crying sand 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 11 

under my windows — wliut a ragged, rugged looking 
dog he is — what a sohd-legged, broad-backed, im- 
pudent scoundrel — such a pair of lungs, too. Now 
is it nut too bad, that I should be penned up here, 
like a bit of wax- work in a mviseum, and that this 
noisy, unprincipled vagabond should be as free as 
air ? Curse my unlucky stars ! 

Patience, patience, patience, my dear boy, think 
of poor old Job, and his patriarchal sufferings — 
studded with boils, tormented by a vixen of a wife, 
teased and insulted by hypocritical visitors — what 
are your experiences, compared with his ? think of 
that, and so possess thy soul, and gulp down thy 
pills in patience. 

Pills, forsooth! have I not been gulping them 
down continually, for the last quarter of a century ? 
hundreds of thousands of them, of all sorts, sizes and 
denominations? Blue, Life, Health, Dinner, Assa- 
foetida. Paradise Pills? I verily believe that I 
have tossed down more of these balls into my 
stomach, than there were votes polled at the last 
federal election — yes more than there were ever 
confetti thrown, at the gayest Carnival of Eome. I 
have no doubt that at this moment they are sticking 
about in the coats of my stomach, thicker than 
capers on a leg of mutton — pills, say you ? ay, and 



12 MUTTERINGS AND 

powders too — have I not swallowed powders enough 
to make a first-class sand-bank ? Have I not swilled 
down saline and bitter draughts, enough to float 
the navy of Europe? name to me, if you can, a 
cough drop that I have not tried ; a cough candy 
that I have not sucked — or any gum, paste, root, 
syrup, tincture, that has not crossed the threshold 
of my stomach — Wintergreen, Camomile, Valerian, 
Hoarhound, Liverwort, Sarsaparilla, have I not 
sued to them all in vain? Have I not bowed down 
and worshipped at the shrines, first of Allopathy, 
then of Homoeopathy, and finally, of Hydropathy ? 
Have I not all summer long been soaking in wet 
sheets, and tossing down multitudinous tumblers of 
Croton ? Have I not crouched down in sitz baths 
of all temperatures ? what part of my poor carcass 
has Tiot been a target for the contents of douche- 
pipes of all calibers ? and has it not turned out a 
sovereign, a stupendous humbug? Water-cure, 
forsooth ! Why the first great water experiment of 
all, the Deluge itself, did not effect a cure; for who 
does not feel it, in his very bones, to be true, that 
the world is just as full of scamps, and quacks, and 
sots, and ruffians, as it was before the Flood ? 
Well, well, well — let me compose myself — let me 
see if a cup of tea, and the morning paper cannot, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 13 

between them, bring me down to a more rational, 
Christian frame of mind. Heavens ! what a mon- 
ster sheet — it is really a job to fold it — why six 
irritable fellow-citizens might read abi^ast here, 
without any excuse for growling or hustling. If it 
keeps growing at this rate, the Times will soon be a 
mere chicken alongside of it ; and as to those poor 
little starvelings that they call Journals in France, 
and Austria, and Italy, they sink into absolute 
nothingness. What says the editor? "We present 
to our readers," &c., "unwieldy as it may seem, we 
assure them that it is quite too small to be a faithful 
mirror of the world's doings, or an adequate ex- 
ponent of the wants of our vast, momently growing, 
and ever dearly beloved Gotham" — ^you say truth, 
no doubt, most amiable of pen-wielders — the world's 
doings, indeed — no trifle, they, in our day — how 
vast, how manifold! Has there ever before been, 
such a stir and bustle in this planet of ours ? Can 
it be, that our brethren in the other orbs of space 
are so full of business ? if so, what an active, enter- 
prising universe it must be. How proud we ought 
to be to belong to it ! Why, here there is scarce a 
corner left for the meditative man — the philosopher 
can scarce find a quiet day, or quiet night, wherein 
to pursue his speculations ; as for the poor poet, the 



14 MUTTERINGS AND 

jig is clearly up with him ; he ma}' as well hang his 
harp upon the willows forthwith, or take it to the 
nearest pawnbroker's shop — he must no longer 

"Murmur near the running brooks 
A music sweeter than their own ;" — 

both brook and poet are looked upon by the com- 
munity with a jealous eye — the former must no 
longer be permitted to prattle and loiter amongst 
groves and meads, but must be cut short in its 
course, and pressed into the service of Mammon — as 
to the latter, let him take refuge instanter in peddhng 
or book-keeping, if he would dodge the operation of 
the vagrant act — public opinion will not be trifled 
with — and public opinion hath voted " calm contem- 
plation and poetic ease" to be intolerable nuisances, 
as much so, as intramural burying, or bone-boiling. 
Drop your books, then, my young friend — suspend 
your rambles — leave the lily on its stem, the Shak- 
peare on its shelf, and come and join the great con- 
gregation of Workers — come, help us plough and 
plant and sow and reap and dig and build and chop 
and spin and grind — fear not, there is work enough 
and to spare, for the whole of us — ^yes, for the whole 
nine hundred millions — see what herculean labors 
we are already engaged in, and have cut out for our 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 15 

children and childrens' children — tapping lakes, cut- 
ting across isthmuses, scooping out harbors, putting 
rivers in trim for business, drilling holes through 
mountains, ransacking the bowels of the earth for 
gold and silver, undermining whole States for fuel, 
chasing whales from ocean to ocean, sending forth 
our packs of steam -hounds to scour the earth by sea 
and land, plucking out the heart of its mystery from 
either pole, holding wire-talks with the antipodes, 
turning the gTcat globe itself into a huge whispering 
gallery — surely these are laudable, and most appro- 
priate tasks for human wits and nerves — most true — 
but, meanwhile, are there no other departments of 
thought and action? Is theology to go by the 
boards ? are metaphysics to be forgotten ? are the 
higher mathematics to be abandoned to the angels? 
May we no longer chop logic as well as wood ? are 
the flowers of rhetoric to wither on their stalks ? Is 
j iirisprudence to be deprived of her fair proportions ? 
Is science only to be valued, as she may minister to 
our comfort ? Is Art herself to forget all that is 
lofty and holy in her calling, and to become a mere 
turnspit in the service of Appetite ? Heaven forbid 
— and yet, while we all cheerfally admit, in theory, 
the supremacy of things spiritual, are we not de- 
voting the great mass of our time, thought, and 



16 MUTTERINGS AND 

means to things material ? turning our back upon 
the substance, while chasing the teazing, deceiving, 
and tormenting shadow? But I forget myself — 
what business has a poor cripple, like me, to indulge 
in these vain speculations ? Has not the doctor ex- 
pressly tabooed all such entertainments — ay, all 
approach to anything like argument, or even medi- 
tation ? My great occupation, he says, ought to be, 
to keep this infernal blood of mine from mounting 
vip and boiling in my brain-pan, and to resort to 
every possible contrivance for coaxing and forcing- 
it down towards my heels — delightful employment ! 
Hurrah, then for the hair gloves and the flesh-brush, 
after which, a cheerful, graceful turn or two with 
the dumb-bells. 



Better to day — I find it a relief to record my sen- 
sations, and to give my thoughts and whims an oc- 
casional airing — yes, I am worth full ten such poor 
devils as I was yesterday, and almost begin to think 
I may yet live to be called venerable. How would 
a course of sparring lessons suit me ? Rough sport 
for an invalid — no, I have hardly physical capital 
enough for that line of business — and yet there is 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 17 

something very fascinating about it — so dignified, so 
heroic, too ! I have a sneaking kind of admiration 
for prize-fighters — I took, I fear, an inexcusable de- 
gree of interest in the great Hyer and Sullivan en- 
counter — perhaps we sickly, feeble fellows are too 
apt to look with a sort of idolatry at these magnifi- 
cent specimens of muscular development, and arc 
not sufficiently alive to their moral and intellectual 
short-comings — true, and yet it m a " glorious thing 
to have a giant's strength" — ay, a delightful thing 
to be able to trot along comfortably, with a barrel 
of flour under each arm ; or, in a moment of right- 
eous indignation, rapidly and scientifically, to lay 
low a score or two of insolent hackmen. This is 
certainly a great deal more thau Pr. Channing could 
have done, at any period of his career — he was a 
champion of a difierent stamp — in the matter of 
physical force, he was not worth a pinch of snuff — 
a small boy could have floored him with ease — but 
oh, what a Titan with his pen — I was just reading 
a fine passage in his remarks on Fenelon. How 
many writers are there on the globe at this moment, 
who can construct so exquisite a sentence as this ? 
" Has the reader never known a season, when, in 
the fullest flow of thought and feehng, in the uni- 
versfil action of the soul, an inward calm, profound 



18 MUTTERINGS AND 

as iRidnight silence, yet bright as the still summer 
noon, full of joy, hut unbroken by one throb of tumult- 
uous passion, has been breathed through his spirit, 
and given him a glimpse and presage of the serenity 
of a happier world ?" How many individuals, too, 
are there in this quarter of the globe, who could 
venture to reply in the affirmative to the question 
therein asked ? a very, small upper chamber of a 
very small mansion would probably hold them all. 
Do we even comprehend the meaning of this spirit- 
ual peace, these heaven-anticipating visions ? we, 
who live in this "great center of commercial inter- 
ests," as we proudly call it, this bustling, crowded, 
Grand Cafe of a town— we bury the Doctor's books, 
to be sure — we give them an honorable place in our 
libraries. But do we read them with decided relish ? 
Would we, on the whole, consider it a privilege to 
have an hour's talk, per diem, with the author ? Do 
we sympathize with him in these lofty views of his ? 
Would we care to accompany him in these heaven- 
ward flights ? I think I liear an overwhelming ma- 
jority reply, promptly and honestly, no, no, no — we 
are in no hurry for these celestial entertainments — 
give us a snug perch, close alongside of dear old 
mother earth — we would not be super-spiritual yet 
a while — we are for hugging, and making much of 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 19 

the good things about ns. We decidedly prefer 
getting together over our pipes and punch-bowls, 
and discussing crops, trade, and politics — if con- 
science will^ now and then, ask impertinent ques- 
tions, or if fancy ivill paint disagreeable pictures of 
the life to come, why, then we smoke all the more 
furiously, and drink the more deeply. Miserable 
deluded creatures, that say thus, if not always with 
their lips, at least in their lives — and yet we inva- 
lids are quite as bad in our way, quite as great earth- 
worms — are we not forever chattering about our 
groans and pains ? Do we not gloat over and make 
as much of our pills and our purges, our tonics and 
our gruels, as our brethren, the epicures, do of their 
fricandeaux and their foie-gras, their wines and their 
salads? But surely there is some shadow of an 
excuse, in our case. Nature herself seems to have 
condemned us to be mere animals — ay, wilfully to 
have closed the gates upon us, were we ever so 
much disposed to enter any of the broad avenues of 
business, philanthropy, or study. If I, for instance, 
were to continue even these idle pen-ramblings for 
an hour longer, or were to read half a dozen more 
pages of the Eeview of Fenelon, what would be ray 
reward ? Why, all sorts of uncomfortable feelings. 
Feet like icebergs, head like a furnace, great diffi- 



20 MUTTERINGS AND 

culty of breathing, yes, all sorts of shakings, shiver- 
ings, shudderings, and nasty inexplicable sensation?. 
I should have to resort fortwith to a scalding foot- 
bath, turn down a gallon or two of hot catnip tea, 
by way of stomach-soother, and probably have to lie 
all night, sandwiched in between two huge mustard 
plasters. Now, would it pay ? Is knowledge wortli 
having at such a price ? as it is, I shall turn in with 
fear and trembling — fully expecting that broken, 
troubled, unrefreshing sleep that ever awaits the In- 
valid. 



A vile, vile day — sick as a dog — cold as a frog — 
cross as a bear — hoarse as a crow — were my bite 
within gunshot of my bark, I could soon make my 
teeth meet in this mahogany table — yes, I could 
nip off the heads of ten-penny nails, as if they were 
so many sprigs of celery, or spears of asparagus. 
But alas, few and inefficient are my grinders — calo- 
mel, and such like pleasing preparations, have con- 
signed two thirds of them to an early grave — and 
as to getting a new porcelain outfit, would it pay ? 
Is it at all likely, that I should ever get a fair, satis- 
factory day's work out of them? Could I get a 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 21 

new stomach with them, it would be an object, per- 
haps — what a queer world we live in — how many 
hundreds and thousands are there of my fellow 
beings, endowed with magnificent sets of masti- 
cators, and with stomachs longing for employment, 
who, nevertheless can only procure a meal of vic- 
tuals by begging or stealing it ; while I, and many 
unfortunates like me, are surrounded by dainties, 
yet have no apparatus worthy of the name, either 
for laying hold of them, dissolving them, or ex- 
tracting any comfort or benefit from them. Say, 
why is this? Tell us, ye ready readers of life's 
riddles, why are the gifts of nature and of for- 
tune distributed in this capricious, this abominable 
manner ? What have I done, that I should be 
cursed with this miserable constitution? My pa- 
rents have both been uniformly hale and hearty. I 
have committed no excesses, either in the way of 
pleasure or of study, that can account for my suffer- 
ings. No, I have been a sorry, rickety concern 
from the start — as an infant, my kickings were fee- 
ble, my squallings tame and short-lived ; as a boy, 
I had no strength for running, or kite-flying, or 
even marbles. I don't believe, I ever took a meal 
in all my life, before or since weaning, with real, 
unaffected relish — I ask again, why is this? Ex- 



22 MUTTEEINGS AND 

plain to me, ye, wlio decipher so promptly tlie 
handwriting of the Creator in all the minutiae of life, 
explain, if yon please, the cui bono of this particu- 
lar arrangement. I cannot see it! Ah sir, you 
have no faith — faith — faith — ^had you a cheerful 
and abiding faith, you would put a better face on 
matters, and would not be whining and grumbling 
thus — alas, too true, too true, and yet how easy is 
it for you, in this pert, flippant way to prescribe this 
sovereign remedy. I should like to see a little 
more of it in your own conduct and conversation ; 
you are quite too sleek and rosy, most of you, for 
genuine disciples — let me be patient, however, I 
shall soon be on the other side of the great gulf — 
then will this painful problem be solved — ay, and 
the ten thousand other mysteries of life, that now 
so tease, and vex, and puzzle the will, " and make 
sick the souls of us poor fools of nature." 

Confound those kittens — there they are, again, 
dancing the polka round my cream-jug — pretty lit- 
tle villains — hide your diminished heads, ye Tagli- 
onis, and Ceritos, ye Ellslers, and Fitz Jameses — 
what are all your saltations, and circumgyrations, 
and attitudinizings, compared with the motions of 
these youngsters, these miniature, tame tigresses — 
what treacherous looking eyes, though — yes, they 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 23 

look as if they had a vivid recollection of the apos- 
tasy, and were anxious to commence hostilities 
forthwith, with the whole family of man. Can it 
be, that the tradition hath been thus faithfully 
handed down from one generation of cats to anoth- 
er ? You would like, no doubt, you young scamps, 
to be in the woods at this moment, there combin- 
ing and confederating with your kinsmen, for the 
pui'pose of eating us all up, and having the planet 
to yourselves — yes, you would like to be sucking 
my breath, and scratching out my eyes, this blessed 
minute — off with you, sc — t' sc — t. 

This is Election Day, and we are all urged by 
our brethren of the press, in leaders of unusual 
fervor, to rush early to the polls, and deposit our 
votes ; it seems that the country is more than ever 
in danger, this fine frosty morning. I can't help it, 
for one, I shall not budge an inch. What, wilfully 
rmi away from the discharge of this imperative 
duty ? blindly waive the exercise of this sovereign 
right? throw away this choicest flower of yom- 
prerogative? Most assuredly — not, however, for 
any such pitiful reason, as that I am profoundly 
ignorant of the characters, even of the names of 
nearly all the gentlemen on each list of candidates ; 
because, cripple though I be, it was clearly my 



24 MUTTERINGS AND 

duty to get full and clear information on these im- 
portant points. I shall stay away, simply because I 
have not strength and nerve sufl&cient fairly to meet 
those annoyances which I am sure to encounter, if I 
go. I have quite too vivid a recollection, I assure 
you, of the scrape I got into, whilst exercising the 
elective franchise, last season. What did I gain by 
that experiment? Was I not detained, hustled, 
bruised ? Were not my corns trod on ? Did I not 
part company for ever with the larboard skirt of my 
coat ? Was not my hat cut off in the flower of its 
youth? And did I not overhear myself called, 
several times, a cursed old Federalist ? And was 
not one of these very traducers, a servant whom I 
had turned off a few days before, for stealing my 
wine ? And did not his vote destroy all the efficacy 
of mine ? And did I not the next morning find, as 
usual, that I had been voting with a hopeless 
minority? And do you presume to ask me to 
make the same fool of myself to-day ? I shall do no 
such thing, I assure you. Ay, but the union of these 
States — the blessed union itself, my dear sir, is in 
danger. I am sorry to hear it, gentlemen, but 
really if it he in such a rickety condition, that its 
salvation depends upon the votes of a few invalids, 
why, the sooner it goes by the board, the better. 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 25 

But I don't believe a word of it. I have no more 
doubt that, whichever of the two sets of candidates 
be chosen this day, the great, permanent, substantial 
interests of the union will be duly watched and 
protected, than I have that the boats will go up the 
river to-morrow, or the cars leave for Boston. At 
the same time, I am equally convinced that, in the 
present excited state of the public mind, there will 
be, in all human probability, as there was last year, a 
most disgusting scuffle at the Polls, which, as a sick 
man, I would fain dodge — so leave me, if you 
please, to the peaceful enjoyment of my morning 
gown and slippers. 

Disunion, forsooth ! pray, where are these mighty 
men, these political Samsons, who threaten to bring 
down this glorious fabric about our ears ? who 
would fain demolish this, the most solid, magnifi- 
cent structure that legislators ever erected for the 
admiration and imitation of mankind ? Well, gen- 
tlemen, how are you going to work? Where do 
you propose to begin? What vulnerable point 
have you selected for this impious assault ? What 
spell have you found potent enough to dissolve 
these myriad relations which bind us together, with 
all their dependent duties, interests, memories, 
affections? relations which are multiplying every 



26 MUTTERINGS AND 

moment, by inter-marriage, by emigration, by all 
sorts of enterprises, public and private, religious 
and secular? Are we not literally tied together 
by ten thousand bands of iron ? And who are you, 
that would thus madly pull us apart, in spite of 
Nature and Art themselves ? in spite of Steam and 
Lightning, who are even now, in fulfilment of their 
great mission, drawing us closer and closer con- 
tinually, as brethen and as sisters, and are con- 
verting this huge and ever growing republic into 
one great and loving family ? Are we not at this 
moment, through their influences, far more compact 
and solid as a nation, far nearer together for all 
purposes of pleasures, or of business, for all inter- 
change of visits or of ideas, than we were when the 
old thirteen first joined their hands, and pledged 
their faith around the blessed tree of liberty ? And 
now that the thirteen are on the eve of becoming 
three times thirteen, do you propose to break up 
this beautiful association, to destroy this harmonious 
movement, and to throw us all back into confusion 
and chaos? Thank heaven, the idea is as mon- 
strous and absurd, as it is unfilial and villanous. 
Dissolve this union, truly ! as well might a six- 
months-old babe undertake, with his tender little 
fingers, to pull a huge cotton mill to pieces — as well 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 27 

might a parcel of truant boys, in a crazy sail-boat, 
undertake to run down an ocean steamer, as this 
miserable gang of malcontents to wreck our glori- 
ous ship of state. 



Oh dear, what a strange, absurd, ungovernable 
humor I am in this morning. I seem to have no 
control over myself whatever I can hardly keep 
from making all sorts of animal noises, from cutting 
all sorts of silly capers — I feel like breaking all the 
panes of glass in the country — like smashing all 
the crockery and furniture of the land to atoms — 
yes, I would like to begin, this minute, throwing 
double sommersets, and keep at it, heels over head, 
head over heels, even till the crack of doom. What 
crazy whims will continually enter this poor brain 
of mine, in spite of myself. I was, even now, in 
imagination, going down in a diving bell, down, 
down, down to the bottom of the sea, and for no 
other purpose than to pop a counterfeit hundred 
pound note into the hands of an astonished sea- 
nymph ; and presently, I was going vip in a great 
balloon, in company with chattering apes and 
grinning wild-cats — yes, up, up, up to the blessed 



28 MUTTERINGS AND 

moon itself, and with no other or more laudable 
object in view, than to take the venerable man 
thereof by the nose. Pray, is it not enough that 
my broken slumbers should be invaded by such 
abominable fancies, but they must beard me thus 
in broad daylight? Am I not a poor, unlucky 
dog? At this rate, reason will soon leave me in 
disgust, and forever — ay, and conscience will not 
much longer condescend to hold her court in such 
a miserable concern as I am. What sort of a life 
is this I lead? "What dignity, or value, or moral 
meaning hath it? A moment ago, I was for 
indulging in all kinds of antics — making a perfect 
ninny and harlequin of myself; directly, I shall be 
as dull, and dumb, and helpless as a mummy ; or 
at best, fidgetting over the fire, or growling over 
my gruel — yes, I begin to feel the reaction already 
— oh, how grim I look, — had I been chewing ashes 
for the last six months, and washing them down 
with ink, I could not have a more lugubrious 
visage. What a time for some fool of a friend to 
secure my portrait — what an inspiring subject, too, 
for the artist. Unless he flattered me most villan- 
ously, his work would be a perfect emetic to the 
beholder. Oh, why am I thus afflicted? thus 
incapacitated for all that is useful, respectable, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID, 29 

heroic in life ? Why was I not endowed with facul- 
ties of mind and body, that would have enabled 
me to command an army, or compile a code, or 
*' the applause of listening senates to command," or 
to plead the cause of the oppressed, or to preach 
God's word to my brethren ? Why, in place of all 
this, am I condemned to wretchedness and useless- 
ness ? a mere cumberer of the ground ? tied down 
and enslaved to this wretched, dilapidated frame. 
What sort of a partnership is this, where the poor 
soul is quite defrauded of all share in the management 
of the concern ? I am for dissolving it forthwith. 
I long to say farewell to this rebellious stomach, 
these crazy lungs, these inefficient legs, these dull 
eyes, this unserviceable brain — let me go then, and 
have a new outfit in the way of faculties — some new 
machinery, here or elsewhere, whereby I may be- 
come useful to others, and a comfort to myself — 
yes, I am willing to be the humblest angel that 
ever flew upon a heavenly errand, or helped swell 
the celestial choir — anything, anything that may 
please heaven, so I be speedily emancipated from 
this vile vassalage. 



30 MUTTERINGS AND 

What a dose I have been taking! not of the 

usual kind, however. has been in to see 

me, and has almost talked me to death — ^for two 
long mortal hours has he been rattling away, with 
his usual ardor and fluency, about what ? Why, no 
less a theme than the uses and capabilities of India 
rubber. You would have really supposed, from his 
tone and manner, that there was nothing left under 
the canopy of heaven, but this great gum — that all 
the trees and shrubs of earth had given place to the 
S3rringe tree, and that the whole human race were, 
or ought to be, hard at work, securing the precious 
sap. As to inserting a word edgewise, either in the 
way of approbation or of remonstrance, it was quite 
out of the question. Now, is it not too bad ? What 
right has a man to monopolize the conversation 
thus ? What right has he thus to unburthen him- 
self of his thoughts, however weighty they may be, 
without the slightest reference to the taste, or habits, 
or character, of the person whom he is addressing? 
Why, what in the name of old Nicholas and all his 
imps, do / care about India rubber ? What's caout- 
chouc to me, or I to caoutchouc, that he should bore 
me thus ? To make the matter worse, I was feeling 
tolerably comfortable this morning, and had abso- 
lutely forgotten my poor, sorry self, in the divine ^ 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 31 

pages of Milton — and to be disturbed in this unrea- 
sonable, unseasonable manner, to be literally hauled 
down from the seventh heaven of invention, to the 
low and grovelling things of earth. I am out of all 
patience. I quarrel not with the gum, it is a good 
thing in its way — by no means the least of the gifts 
of the great Giver — let us use it, then, gratefully 
and intelligently, let us make the most of it in the 
way of coats, covers, bags, bottles, and knapsacks. 
If, possibly, there be some latent nutritive principle 
residing in it, let us have it out — if, under Provi- 
dence, India rubber be destined to supplant buck- 
wheat, in the shape of cakes for breakfast, why al> 
the better — but do not, in the name of all that is 
reasonable, do not postpone to it, or to any thing 
that was merely given for food, or raiment, or shelter, 
matters of infinitely more dignity and importance. 
It is really sad to see a man of talent, and energy, 
and integrity, so far astray — to see him thus ab- 
sorbed, heart and soul, in things perishing, and wil- 
fully turning his back upon things essential. If we 
must be enthusiasts, do let it be in some great cause 
—so noble a passion ought to be reserved for grand 
occasions — be enthusiastic, if you will, about your 
faith, or about great general truths and principles in 
science, art, government, but do not throw away all 



32 MUTTERINGS AND 

your zeal on such comparative trifles as the maxi- 
mum speed of a steamer, or the maximum product 
of an acre. In this short, frail life of ours, can v.c 
be too particular as to the choice of our pursuit;^, 
the character of our ends and our means? can \vc 
be too careful as to what pleasures we seek, what 
books we read, what company we keep ? But an 
enthusiast is quite too apt to seek the society of those 
who reflect his own opinions ; of those who, in their 
folly, or in their cunning, are the mere echoes of all 
his sentiments. Thus petted, and flattered, and be- 
guiled, "will he not necessarily become conceited, 
*pinionative, full of himself and his schemes, jealous 
of all opposition, if not positively overbearing and 
tyrannical ? K his cause were the loftiest on earth, 
surely these are not the qualities to add to its lustre, 
or to ensure its success, on the contrary, are not such 
men invariably, in the end, betrayed to their ruin, 
either by their own blind passions, or by the arts of 
crafty men, whose tools they have become ? Still, 
they may have the consolation of perishing in a 
noble cause, but when a man's enthusiasm is forever 
expended upon trifles, and he is, moreover, per- 
petually shifting the objects of that enthusiasm, then 
there is neither diginity nor comfort to sustain him 
in the hour of trouble. If his schemes succeed, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 33 

there is no true glory in them — if they fail, as they 
are almost sure to fail, in his inconstant, impatient 
hands, they leave him without any claim on the ad- 
miration or sympathy of others. As to the kind 
oflBices of friends, what right has he to expect them ? 
has he not ever preferred, to true friends, the com- 
pany of flatterers and underlings? Nay, fortunate 
will he be, if he escape the sneers and taunts of the 
very scoundrels who have used him for their own 
sollish ends. Is it not then, I ask again, a sorry 
sight, to behold a man of ability, and of good in- 
tentions, thus wandering from the right path ; thus 
mistaking the true objects of life ; thus wasting his 
energies upon a series of visionary projects ; letting 
go this wild, mad-cap scheme, only to take hold of 
the next that comes along ; dismounting from one 
hobby, only to jump up on another, and so to keep 
it up, to the end of the chapter, dashing and hurry- 
ing along, with all the speed and fury of a Gilpin, 
but, alas, without the good luck of a Gilpin at the 
close — yes, to see him, at last, thrown ingloriously 
to the ground, and, if escaping without broken neck 
or limbs, at best sadly bruised and wounded, in 
body and spirit, harassed, mortified, soured, ending 
his days, it may be, in gloom and bitterness of soul ? 

But are we, who behold and comment upon this sad 
2* 



34 MUTTERINGS AND 

spectacle, a whit better ourselves ? Are we not all 
a poor miserable set of bunglers and blunderers? 
Pray, how many of us are there who are on the right 
track ? How many are there on this round earth, 
this very moment, who can lay claim to any re- 
spectable amount of wisdom or of goodness? Are 
we not all blindly mistaking, or wilfully forsaking 
the true road to happiness ; if we know the right, 
do we not still the wrong pursue? Do we not 
meanly surrender to every little paltry temj)tation 
that springs up in our path ? Who so amiable and 
exemplary, that he is not at times disgusted with 
himself? For my own poor part, when I think of 
what I ought to be, and of what I am, I am tempt- 
ed to curse the very hour of my birth. In what 
corner of the universe dare I hold up my head? 
Had I not better have been a bird or bee, or the 
humblest flower that blows, or the meanest pebble 
on the seashore, than the miserable, guilty creature 
that I am ? But enough of this — let me once more 
run away from my worthless self, if I can, and take 
refuge in the thoughts of this divine master of his 
art, this reverend prince of poets. 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 36 

Better, better, better, to-day — I hardly know 
myself — head cool, brain clear, stomach in the line 
of its duty — why, I positively feel like dancing, 
leaping, whistling — I could give nine hearty cheers 
— I absolutely read a passage just now in Kent's 
Commentaries with ease, with relish ; I think I might 
venture on Fearne himself; will it last, though ? is 
it not a mere temporary and treacherous relief? 
Blue pill, the cause? let me give it due credit 
therefor — but then the infernal debit side of the 
account remains to be seen — I shall pay for it, no 
doubt, with most usurious interest — meanwhile, let 
me enjoy my freedom — let me taste this blessed, 
balmy air. 

I have had the happiness of seeing again, to-day, 
that noble work of art, the Course of Empire. Oh, 
is it not a magnificent performance ? what grandeur 
of design — what beautiful and elaborate execu- 
tion — what affluence of ideas — and those ideas il- 
lustrated in so faithful and masterly a manner — no 
running away from the grand theme — no, it is 
fairly grappled with, and with a giant's strength — 
into what a world of details has the artist gone, and 
in what a thorough, exhausting way has he han- 
dled them — the whole forms, indeed, a glorious 
epic on canvass. In such hands, the pencil seems 



S6 MUTTERINGS AND 

more impressive and eloquent in its teachings even 
than the pen. Could Wordsworth himself have 
taught us this great lesson with equal power and 
beauty ? There is, indeed, great similarity of genius 
in the two artists — the same loftiness and purity of 
thought — ^the same finished and elaborate splendor 
of style — the same intense love of, and diligent fol- 
lowing after, Nature. How different again, were 
they in their destinies — the poet was permitted 
to wander and meditate in his loved woods, even 
to a good old patriarchal age — the painter was 
suddenly summoned from his labors in the yery 
bloom and vigor of his powers ; when his brain 
was more than ever fertile in images of beauty, and 
his hand more than ever prompt to give them lifc 
and lustre. Oh, can it be, that these rare faculties 
of his are forever hushed in death ? No, no — our 
hearts protest, most fervently protest, against the 
horrid thought. Surely they exist, even now, and are 
actively employed in some higher sphere^ — exert- 
ed under more genial influences ; emancipated from 
the paltry cares that so distract the artist's career 
on earth ; united to some far more exquisite organi- 
zation; surrounded by far higher standards of 
grandeur, and beauty, and goodness; expatiating 
in scenery far more magnificent ; yes, drinking in 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 37 

■with an hundred-fold more joy, reproducing with 
an hundred-fold more power, lights and shades, and 
forms and hues, which it entereth not into the 
hearts of us poor residents of earth to conceive. Is 
it not better to believe this, than to believe that 
such precious gifts are rusting in the earth, unused? 
Is then the great soul of Shakspeare still a prisoner 
beneath that solemn chancel ? condemned, for how 
long we know not, to the silence, and darkness, and 
nothingness of that dreary vault? or is it at large, 
playing some lofty part, doing some glorious duty, 
ill some nobler region of the universe? The idea 
of annihilation cannot be tolerated — but this indefi- 
nite suspension of oar faculties, this waiting in our 
graves, thousands of years, perhaps, for some vague- 
ly defined and ever-receding day of judgment — is it 
a pleasant, an inspiring thought ? And those of us 
who were without graves, who were burned to 
ashes, or ground to powder, or devoured by beasts, 
or swallowed up in ocean, where are they slum- 
bering? What has become of these millions on 
millions of souls that were made since the world 
began ? Are they all in a state of unconsciousness ? 
And are they to be joined by millions on millions 
more of sleepers, century after century, even to 
the dawning of this great day of reckoning ? Why 



38 MUTTERINGS AND 

this indefinite postponement of the rewards of the 
virtuous, and of the punishinentrf of the wicked? 
Why this monstrous waste of faculties, that might 
have been put to noble uses elsewhere ? But if this 
be the Scripture doctrine, how worse than idle are 
all these inquiries. Submit then in silence ; ask no 
more "vain questions, that cannot be answered on 
this side the grave — Kevelation hath not conde- 
scended to answer them; Reason is overwhelmed 
in the attempt to solve them — these are themes to 
be approached but seldom, even by the mightiest 
minds — and then with honest purpose and reverent 
demeanor. "What right then have such fellows as I, 
whose wits, such as they are, are all enfeebled and 
entangled by disease, to meddle with these matters, 
and to puzzle ourselves with thoughts beyond the 
reaches of our souls ? Let me then run away in time, 
else death or lunacy will surely overtake me — far 
better for me to be chopping wood this minute, or 
drawing water, or even crying clams along the high- 
way, than to be indulging in these vain specula- 
tions. Am I not already paying for this abuse of 
my freedom ? My head swims, my blood is stag- 
nant — let me rush out into the street, and walk as 
if eighteen hundred bailiffs were after me — yes, doc- 
tor, I will — ^you're right — the animal nature mxist 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 39 

be developed — ^the legs must do double duty, and 
the brain must retire on half-pay. Boating, riding, 
billiards, shuffleboard, quoits, tenpins, be these the 
great, the predominant employments of my days — 
chequers, cribbage, backgammon, be these the so- 
lace of my nights — chess is quite too intellectual. 
As for mathematics or metaphysics, farewell, for- 
ever, to them — a long farewell to Locke, and Bacon, 
and Shakspeare, and Milton, and Coleridge. I may 
occasionally dip into Pendennis or Pickwick, with 
safety ; but, as a permanency, had better confine my- 
self to almanacs and advertisements — a pretty line of 
life truly — a pretty descent from the scholar's ideal. 
It is as if a man were wilfully to abandon his Fifth 
Avenue palace, and go down and take lodgings at 
the Five Points. Yes, my dear doctor, you merely 
ask me to throw the ear of corn away, and hug the 
husk to my bosom^to let the kernels go, and fasten 
my teeth in the shells. Be it so — be it so — if the 
ass enjoyed his thistles, why may I not make a com- 
fortable meal of chesnut-burs ? Curse — but no, 
no — let me be resigned, not rebellious — let me still 
cherish the hope of brighter days to come. 



40 MUTTERING9 AND 

What a lovely morning — "so cool, so calm, so 
bright, tlie bridal of the earth and sky" — ^yet I con- 
fess I am looking at it through yellow spectacles — 
as / feel, there is "no glory in the grass, no splen- 
dor in the flower," How can it be otherwise ? Is 
not my stomach again in a state of rebellion ? Do 
not my legs refuse to honor my drafts ? I might 
as well carry a pumpkin about upon these shoulders, 
as this poor, miserable, unserviceable noddle — oh, 
how the thatch is tumbling from this thin roof of 
mine — my hairs are leaving me, faster than ever 
rats abandoned sinking ship. If paying away dol- 
lars to quacks could have effected it, I ought now 
to be putting Absalom to the blush, with my 
thick, golden clusters ; but no, gentlemen, in spite 
of your long classic names, your flaming manifes- 
toes, and your gayly-colored and nose-inviting pre- 
parations, the tonsure is hourly increasing in cir- 
cumference — not all the oil in all the bears of either 
pole can mend the matter — my pate will very soon 
become as smooth and shining as yon ostrich egg — • 
it is so written in the book of fate : I am strongly 
inclined, moreover, to the oj^inion, that a furiously 
small proportion of the heads that faU in your way, 
reap any benefit from your costly mixtures — be- 
tween ourselves, is not the whole thing a gigantic 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 41 

humbug? And yet, your patients seem to be in- 
creasing continually — your deluded victims are 
scattered all over the union, even to the remotest 
bounds of Oregon. You grow rich, you build 
splendid houses, you drive showy equipages, you 
lead the fashion, you lay down the law, not only 
in your own department, but in all the walks of 
life. You would, no doubt, feel indignant, to be 
compared, either as men of intellect, or as benefac- 
tors of your race, to Hale, or Holt, or Mansfield, or 
Marshall, or Kent, or Story. "Well, let us not be- 
grudge you this prosperity of yours ; it is of our own 
making — we love to be humbugged. Who is 
there, that doth not bow the knee to some quacke- 
ry, or other ? One man has a mania for pill-taking, 
he could no more go to sleep without his pills, than 
he could without his night-cap, or without saying 
liis prayers ; another is crazy about some con- 
founded mineral spring or other; he is for ever 
preaching about it, and deluging his inner man 
with it, to the constant amazement and final over- 
throw of his stomach. Who does not like to dwell 
upon his ailments and discomforts ? And let a 
man propose to remove the one, or add to the num- 
ber of the other, be he impudent charlatan, or bona 
fide professor, is he not ever sure of a prompt hear- 



42 MUTTERINGS AND 

ing ? Ears, hearts, purses, are they not all forth- 
with opened unto him ? Doth he offer to replenish 
and rejuvenate your locks, mend your complexion, 
give your teeth a new lease of life, extirpate your 
corns ? Ah, welcome, brother ; sit down, sit down, 
let us talk the matter over — another enters, and 
with all the calm wisdom of a Fenelon, ventures to 
commend to your attention the Colonization Cause, 
or broaches the delicate subject of Home or of 
Foreign Missions. How restless, how fidgety — hoAv 
precious your time has suddenly become — you 
either wilfally feign a pre-engagement, or bluntly 
refuse to give a solitary penny to any such visiona- 
ry enterprises. You are willing to give ten dollars 
for a single concert ticket, but refuse half the 
amount to the aged indigent females, or colored half 
orphans of the county — you propose to give a thou- 
sand dollar ball in the course of the season, but 
have not the remotest idea of adding five to the 
salary of that hard-working clergyman, who is 
compelled to sustain himself, wife, and baker's 
dozen of children upon paltry two hundred. Oh, 
what a precious set most of us are — so spiritually 
niinded, too — why, the slightest suspicion of a 
sprinkling will frighten us away from the sanctu- 
ar}'-, and yet we Avill face a tempest that the most 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 43 

profane smuggler would hardly venture abroad in, 
to hear the warblings of a Soutag, or see the twirl - 
ings of an Ellsler. Is this mere talk, or the naked 
truth ? So intellectual, too — will any man deny, 
that, even in this glorious nineteenth century, there 
arc far more hundreds and thousands who relish 
cock-fights and prize-fights, than there are units 
and tens who enjoy the sermons of a Chalmers, or 
the opinions of a Marshall ? I speak not as a cen- 
sor — alas, I am not a whit better than my neigh- 
bors ; disabled, shut out as I am from their ordi- 
nary amusements and dissipations, am I not, in my 
small way, quite as selfish and sensual ? Am I not 
querulous, peevish, egotistical ? For ever dwelling 
on my troubles, scolding about my medicines, bor- 
ing my friends to death with the whole history of my 
feelings ? Pah — what a paltry life is this — morally 
and intellectually considered, it is not worth the 
quarter part of a pinch of the meanest snuff. As a 
rational being, I am losing ground daily — my stand- 
ard of excellence is becoming lower and lower — ambi- 
tion all oozing away — all high aspirations going, if 
not gone for ever ; I caught myself, even now, vin- 
dicating the course of Faustus, and wishing I had 
the same bargain offered me — I was making the 
most disgraceful compromises with conscience — was 



44 MUTTERINGS AND 

selling out my entire spiritual birtliriglit for a few 
short years of indulgence, even of health ; for 
shame, man, for shame — struggle with these vile 
thoughts, these beastly suggestions of the tempter. 
Oh, for a hearty, generous, substantial, downright 
fit of sickness — a fair fight with the enemy — an aut 
Ctesar aut nihil business of it, so might I get hand- 
somely out of the woods, and be a man again, or 
else receive my mittimus forthwith. Out upon 
these villanous, treacherous, nervous disorders — 
these unmanly combatants that will not show them- 
selves — these bush-fighters — these reptiles, that steal 
upon you with all the malignity of a copperhead, 
and, ere you are aware of it, infuse their vile venom 
into both soul and body — of what use, pray, are 
doctors and their doses against such rascally antag- 
onists as these? No, no, the only possible relief 
from these infernal sensations is in exercise, con- 
stant and violent motion — nothing else ; so let me 
up and awa}" — walk, run, hop, leap, skip, jump, 
dance, wrestle, scuffle, tumble around like mad — 
never mind the immortal part, let it repose, for the 
present, in swinish slumber ; send the muscles to 
school, and give the brain holiday — oh, let me 
solemnly resolve to dedicate the next six months to 
clinil)ing ropes, and pulling weights, and cutting 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 45 

pigeon-wings, and to a thorough course of ground 
and lofty tumbling ; had I not better turn clown in 
the ring, and spend half my time walking about on 
my hand'^ ? Yes, even that were better than to sit 
here, moping, and groaning, and nursing these hor- 
rible feelings, these cruel enemies of my peace. 



I OUGHT to be grateful for a rare privilege that I 
have enjoyed this morning — that of seeing two ex- 
quisite pictures — Cole's Dream of Arcadia, and Du- 
rand's Thanatopsis. The first is a composition full of 
beautiful details — replete with all that is sweet, and 
touching, and soothing in rural life — here are noble 
spreading trees, and far reaching vistas — in the dis- 
tance, gray hills and towers with time-stained walls 
— nearer, on the right, a gushing, sparkling water- 
fall — in front, the same stream, placidly winding 
through the valley — mothers with their children are 
wandering along its banks — boys are gathering lilies 
on its margin — a little farther on, it is spanned by a 
graceful bridge, over which a maiden and her lover are 
galloping — under the trees are scattered groups of old 
men and women, young men and maidens — some are 
spinning, some dancing and making music, some 



46 MUTTERINGS AND 

returning from the chase — others are chatting, or 
quietly basking in the sweet sunshine — on the 
brow of a neighboring hill stands a classic temple, its 
image partially reflected in the stream that skirts its 
base — before it, priests are offering sacrifices, the 
smoke from which is gently curling up into the 
calm, bright sky — oh, what a charming scene, so 
happily composed, and clad in such robes of splen- 
dor — what a cordial to the nerves is it, to behold a 
picture like this. Blessed he, who can dream such 
dreams, and can thus portray them for the delight 
and edification of his brethren ! How different the 
Thanatopsis — less brilliant, less crowded with im- 
agery, but equally fine in its way — a calm, solemn, 
comprehensive picture — far more subdued in its 
style than the other, but far grander in its subject, 
and appealing far more powerfully to our hearts. 
How admirably does it illustrate and enforce the 
thoughts of the poem which suggested it — " Earth, 
and her waters, and the depths of air," are here in- 
deed teaching the great lesson which the poet assigns 
them, in his matchless verse — here are the same hills 

Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun — the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between — 
The venerable woods — rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the mejfdows green. 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 47 

Here too are the familiar images of Death — the 
church, and churchyard, the narro"W house, the 
funeral rites, all announce his presence, while his 
past triumphs are disclosed by broken statues, and 
prostrate columns, half buried in earth — over the 
scene the setting sun is shedding a gentle, mellow 
light, diffused through the " soft vapory air" — the 
effect of the whole is most tranquillizing and delight- 
ful. I say again, happy they who can see such 
things, and can describe them thus, with pen and 
pencil, for the gratification and instruction of their 
fellow-men : — " Blessings be on them, and eternal 
praise" — their laurels well become their brows — true 
benefactors are they ; far more deserving of the name 
than the man who merely multiplies the blades of 
grass upon earth's scrface — what doth he, but hum- 
bly minister to our bodily wants, while they sustain, 
and comfort, and elevate our hearts. 



Another bright morning — would that / were 
bright; but no, I'm as dull as a penny that has been 
in circulation half a century — I am disgusted with 
myself and life, and all that belongs to it — I am tired 
to death of this eternal round of little paltry nothings 



48 MUTTERINGS AND 

that go to make up my existence — tired of paying 
tribute to this vile body — it is a sufficiently humili- 
ating service that we have to render, even in good 
health. "What with the calls of nature and the re- 
quirements of decency, we have an abundantly busy 
time of it — what a frightfully large portion of our 
lives is necessarily consumed in eating, drinking, 
sleeping — in washing, dressing, shaving — tying and 
untying — buttoning and unbuttoning! — what an 
infernal amount of brushing, rubbing, scouring, 
combing, paring, trimming, must be performed by 
every mother's son of us, be he wise or foolish, 
hearty or sickly — why, at least half the gift of life 
is swallowed up in these miserable minutiae. But to 
have to lavish these, and ten thousand other little 
delicate attentions, on such a contemptible, ungrate- 
ful carcass as / am tied to — is it not too bad ? Yes, 
I am sick unto death of standing under shower- 
baths ; of irritating this old hide with plasters and 
hair-gloves ; of dancing attendance on cathartics ; 
of gagging over bowls, while waiting the good 
pleasure of emetics — out upon it — what vile, intol- 
erable slavery it is — oh dear, this is the thousandth 
time today, I believe, that I have blown this ras- 
cally old nose of mine — ought I be to very grateful 
for such a small-beer, small-potato existence as this ? 



MUSIXOS OF AN INVALID, 49 

How mucli more of it, pray, is there in reserve ? 
How many more dreary days and dismal nights, be- 
fore I get my discharge ? I can hardly keep, at 
times, from-cursing myself and all creation: when I 
think how abominably I have been defrauded of 
everything worth having in life, I could almost 
shake my rebel fist at the great Throne of Grace 
itself. Fie, fie, fie ! shame on you, man. Is this 
tlic languaoe or the conduct of a Christian, or of a 
respectable heathen ? Would Socrates have talked 
or acted in this disgraceful manner ? not he ; nor 
Aristides, nor Phocion, nor Philopoenien — true, true, 
li'uc! I am wrong, all wrong — let me then, be pa- 
tient and submissive — let me take the portion as- 
signed me, without grumbling, without wry faces — 
let me try to recognize the hand of a Father in oil 
these dispensations. And now, to bed, to bed ; and 
oh, let me hope and pray, that to morrow's sun will 
find me, if not a healthier, at least a wiser and a bet- 
ter man! 



A CALL from to day — by no means a plea- 
sant one — confound the fellow, he looked more shab- 
bily and smelt more villanously than ever — 'twas 
3 



50 MUTTERINGS AND 

enough, to knock down ten regiments of Life Guards 
— what a rascally way of committing an assault and 
battery ; the law ought to protect us from such 
scamps. Have I an appetite so often, too, that I 
can afford to have it taken away in this infamous 
style ? pah ! never, never shall the filthy wretch 
darken my doors again. But am I not too hard 
upon him ? Is he not, with all his nastiness, one of 
the most talented, amiable, exemplary of men ? In- 
deed, he is. I ask his pardon — nay, I confess, that 
though I was forced to hold my nose during the 
whole visit, I was right glad to keep my ears wide 
open, for he talked both wittily and wisely. The 
more the pity, that he should be cursed with such 
an infirmity. There seems to be no help for it — all 
the remonstrances of his friends, all the mortifica- 
tions that he is constantly subjected to, make no 
impression upon him — 'he is determined literally to 
fulfill the injunction of Scripture, " he which is filthy 
let him be filthy still" — he will be, most unquestiona- 
bly, so long as that vile breath remains in that un- 
washed body of his — the only bath he will ever 
take, will be owing to a tumble into some dock, or 
the capsizing of a boat, or, possibly, the misdirected 
efforts of some hose company. His wardrobe, too, 
will, no doubt, retain the same spotted aspect, the 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 51 

same dilapidated condition, even to the closing 
scene. What sort of lodging must the man live 
in — few piggeries, in the union, probably, as unsa- 
vory. Can he wonder that people dodge him, 
cut him, slam their doors in his face ? Is it at all 
strange, that boys stop their sports to point at him ? 
that babies squall, and horses take fright, when he 
heaves in sight? that dogs bark at him? that tem- 
perance tracts are slipped into his hand ? that om- 
nibus-drivers hesitate about receiving him? that 
barbers are in no hurry to shave him ? that discreet 
sextons will not show him to a pew ? that landlords 
say, " we are full," when he presents himself at the 
counter ? a pretty fellow, he, for a pall-bearer, or 
groomsman, or manager at a ball, or aid to a Grand 
Marshal. Ought he to expect any reasonable wo- 
man to accept his addresses ? to acknowledge him 
as a lover, compared with whom, the farthest-gone 
cheese is as fragrant as the rose of Sharon ? No, no ! 
Love is blind, but then the nose has its claims, and 
cannot put up with such a standing insult as this — 
and if he were married, I doubt whether it would 
alter him in this particular — the habit is quite too 
confirmed — if he did not positively disgrace himself 
upon his wedding day, still, long, long before the 



52 MUTTER INGS AND 

waning of tlie honey moon, lie would relapse into 
the same unshaven, unshorn, unsavory condition as 
ever. Poor man : it seems hard, perhaps, that be- 
cause of a mere physical infirmity, he should be so 
shabbily treated by a community, which is cjuite too 
apt to greet with open arms every well-dressed 
scoundrel that comes along — yet, is it so unjust? 
Ought tliere to be any compromise with nastiness? 
Filth — the enemy, not only of comfort and comeli- 
ness, but of good order and sound morals — what can 
we expect from a community that will not keep 
their streets clean? what, but eternal tumults and 
breaches of the peace ? Would you look for sound 
constitutional law from a dirty Senate? or sound law 
of any kind from a bench of ragged judges, or sound 
theology from a convocation of unshaven divines? 
Naj^, who would take the wisdom of Diogenes, if com- 
pelled to take his dirt along with it? who would listen 
to the divine Plato himself, if forced to hold a bottle of 
salts to his nose, or to burn pastiles all the time he 
was talking? no — Beauty, Dignity, Morality, Piety, 
all alike protest against such intolerable beastliness. 

What can expect, then, but wide berths, cold 

shoulders, angry looks, from his poor brethren in 
the flesh ? So long as that worthy soul of his keeps 



MUSINGS or AN INVALID. 53 

possession of her present must}', rascally habitation, 
she need not look forward to any recognition of her 
claims upon our admiration or regard. 



Oh Lord — I begin the day, as usual, with a 
grunt — not the comfortable grunt, alas, which the 
hog gives, while discussing his plenteous meal of 
swill — oh, no, no — far different are my demonstra- 
tions — ]io such good luck as that for me. Ought 
I to blush when I say that I often envy my four- 
footed brother his many privileges ? his sound sleep, 
for instance — his unfailing apj^etite, his princely 
digestion, his freedom from care, his exemptio]i 
from all the servile labors of the toilet — no boots 
pinch his toes — no hat chafes his brow — no coat cuts 
him to the quick — his life is short, to be sure — his 
death violent ; his exit is a noisy and undignified 
one, I admit — but then it is soon over — and after 
death, there is the consoling thought that he con- 
fers pleasure on the man that eats him — while / 
enjoy nothing here, nor shall be enjoyed after I am 
gone. Oh dear — pretty language this, is it not, for 
a rational and accountable being — a pretty proposi- 
tion truly — to exchange radiant, all-glorious man- 



54 MUTTERINGS AND 

hood, for vile, abominable pighood ! And yet, is 
there not, after all, full as much of the porcine as 
of the seraphic about poor human nature? Are 
not even the best of us quite willing to defer the 
pure joys of heaven to the latest possible moment? 
Do Ave not all hang on, with frightful tenacity of 
grip, to the pleasures of flesh and sense? Yes, the 
great English moralist himself was but too happy 
to descend from his sublime moral stilts, to drop 
down from his lofty rhetorical flights, and literally 
transform himself into a swine, not only in the 
quantity that he ate, and the voracity with which 
he pounced upon the viands, but in the actual vocal 
accompaniments of his over-relished meals. What 
right, then, have we ordinary mortals to take airs 
upon ourselves, and to disclaim all relationship 
with our poor four-legged neighbors, and co-tenants 
of earth ? Are not they, as well as we, a part of 
the blessed work of creation, and were they not 
pronounced good ? And are Ave so very much bet- 
ter ? No, I say again, that for one, I am more dis- 
posed to envy than to crow over these brethren of 
the land, and sea, and sky. So far from insulting 
them, I am for cultivating amicable relations Avith 
the whole concern, even with mosquitoes — even 
they must have some latent good qualities, or they 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 55 

would not Lave cutcrud into the creation-plan. Be- 
sides, how comparatively dull and empty would tlie 
world have been without these fellow-occupants. 
Who has not seen horses that he could almost hug, 
and dogs that he could almost die for, such noble 
ti-aits have they revealed — nor let the pig go un- 
honorcd — he too, has done wonders in his day. 
Who does not remember with pleasure the exploits 
of the famous learned swine, who a few years since 
made the tour of our beloved Union ? what a fa- 
mous crop of laurels he gathered for himself, and of 
dollars for his owner — it was delightful to see him, 
sitting cozily on his haunches, and taking a social 
game of whist — often securing the odd trick, too, by 
a happy display of memory and judgment I won- 
der what ever became of that interesting porker^ — 
Avas there not a dark rumor that he fell, in the dead 
of night, before the treacherous blade of a Cincin- 
nati butcher? and yet I can hardly believe that 
such a wretch as he must have been, ever trod the 
soil of Ohio — ^yes, it was even so — and at the very 
time when the dear quadruped was about to com- 
mence a course of German literature — out upon this 
vile, money-loving age and land. Had this pre- 
cious pig been a native of Italy, how different had 
been his career — he would have i=fone down to his 



56 MUTTERINGS AND 

grave ftill of years and honors — his pen would have 
been lined with mother-of-pearl, and hung round 
with masterpieces — poets would have sung his 
praises — statues of bronze and marble would have 
been raised in his honor, in every piazza of every 
city through the land. Nay, might not St. Antho- 
ny himself, bless his dear old soul, have descended 
in propria persona, and have carried off bodily to 
heaven this miracle of swinehood, this admirable 
Crichton of his race ? 



Another good-for-nothing day — but I will not 
grumble — besides, if I had good health, most likely 
I should abuse the privilege. Had my constitution 
been other than it is, might I not at this very mo- 
ment have been a gambler, drunkard, rake, or an 
impudent quack, or vile pettifogger, or pot-house 
politician, or some other such nuisance to society ? 
or, if innocent, still a poor drudge, and hack, a slave 
to care, immersed in unprofitable pursuits, absorbed 
in vain speculations ? I am far better off, perhaps, 
as I am — if disqualified for much that is useful and 
honorable, if deprived of knowledge, power, fame, 
still, spared a world of toils, out of the reach of a 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 57 

host of temptations. Mj prospects in the world to 
come, too, are they not all the brighter, perhaps, 
for this arrangement ? It may be so. And yet, 
who would wish to sneak into heaven in this pitiful 
kind of way ? "What sort of goodness is that which 
never tastes the air — which sees no service — which 
never, perhaps, has had a solitary fair up-and-down 
fight with the adversary ? pretty poor, flimsy stuff, 
I should say — and small and cheap ought to be its 
rewards — no burden in the cross, no lustre in the 
crown — who wants such paltry laurels ? No, give 
me a prize worth fighting for — give me health, 
strength, vigor of mind, ay, all the endowments of 
a man, with all his perils and responsibilities. Thus 
armed, let me go forth and struggle with Beelzebub, 
as best I may — if I conquer, then bind my brows 
with victorious wreaths. If I fall, I fall through my 
own folly and wickedness, and let me pay the bitter 
penalty — let me suffer, in shame and silence, the 
punishment that I have fairly earned. But am I 
not deceiving myself? Even as it is, am I so very 
sure of heaven — are my prospects in the next world 
so very cheering ? Have I even that negative good- 
ness of which I speak ? Can I lay claim even to 
that poor pennyworth of laurels which is in store 
for it ? Nay, am I not as vile a sinner in my way, 
3* 



58 MUTTERINGS AND 

as the halest and heartiest villain on earth, is in his f 
Yes — yes — Death is not more busy with his darts, 
than Satan with his temptations. Who can escape 
them — be he sick or well, rich or poor, feeble- wit- 
ted or giant in mind? And have I not basely 
yielded to mine ? Am I not a poor, miserable 
culprit, full of rebellious, envious, blasphemous 
thoughts ? Why, did I not, but even now, in the 
bitterness of my heart, curse an inoffensive brother 
that passed by my window, and for no better rea- 
son than because he looked plump, and rosy, and 
vigorous, and swung his arms about with a happ}'', 
self-satisfied air ? Am I not, too, continually envy- 
ing the rich man his riches, the scholar his acquire- 
ments, the married man his familj^ ? Am I not at 
this very moment, murmuring at my lot, compelled 
as I am by sickness to this vile, dreary bachelor ex- 
istence. Why may I not discharge the great primal 
duty of man, that of begetting offspring ? Is it injt 
all that the Scriptures condescend to tell us about 
men, for the first twenty centuries of their exist- 
ence, that they begat sons and daughters? And 
why am I dejorived of the duties and pleasures of 
marriage, why thus shut out from my proper place 
in society ? And so I fret, and grumble, and curse 
my hard fate, and question the ways of Providence. 



^rUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 59 

And is such a fellow fit for lieaven ? A pretty figure, 
truly, should /cut amongst the cherubim and sera- 
phim — ^great pleasure should / take, indeed, in their 
sweet hymns and fervent hallelujahs ! My feelings 
are far more like those of wicked Macbeth, 

"I 'gin to be aweary of the sun, 
And wish the estate of the w^orld were all undone." 

Fie, for shame, where is my faith — faith, the 
only comfort for poor, erring mortals, the only stay 
for falling sinners — faith in the paternal govern- 
ment of God. But, oh ! how hard it is to get such 
foith. The idea seems almost monstrous, that I, a 
feeble, imbecile nobody, occupying a mere pin-point, 
as it were, of space, living but a poor hour or two 
of time, should claim such near and dear relation- 
ship with Ilim who is eternal, omniscient, omni- 
present, omnipotent. Alas, these very attributes 
that we so flippantly ascribe to the Creator, so far 
from ministering to our comfort, only crush and 
overwhelm our minds. The idea, again, that by 
means of some vile sickness, or paltry casualty, we 
are summoned forthwith into the presence of such 
a Being as this, is it reasonable ? On the contrary, 
must not millions and millions of years elapse, with 
their corrcsjionding development of my moral and 



60 MUTTERINGS AND 

intellectual nature, before a creature, sucli as I, could 
endure for a moment to be be confronted with, tbe 
ineffable glory of the Infinite God ? Do not all tbe 
laws of Order, and of Progress, and of Harmony, 
forbid a notion so monstrous ? Still leave me not 
desolate, let me have soine Father in heaven, though 
he be not the very God of the universe — let me 
have some Throne of Grace, at whose feet to lay my 
petitions — some dread tribunal, to which to render 
my account — my poor soul must repose somewhere. 
I would not be an outcast from heaven — I seek not 
to be absolved from my allegiance — sinner that I 
am, I would not escape my just punishment. Such 
a poor, helpless wretch as I am, must lean upon some 
higher power, even were it the most cruel of tyran- 
nies — some future state or other I ask for, even were 
it one of torment^ anything, anything but annihila- 
tion. The thought that I am the mere child of 
chance, and as such, entitled to a dreary indepen- 
dence, ending in oblivion, is too horrible to be borne ; 
heart and soul rebel against it ; all the phenomena of 
life give it the lie. Men sometimes affect to believe 
it, but no, they do not. Were it the real creed of 
the world, it would become one huge den of drunk- 
ards, thieves, and murderers, ere this new moon 
were old. No, no, no, idolaters we may be, and 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 61 

have been from the beginning, but not atheists, not 
materialists. We have done all manner of silly, 
wicked, and abominable things in our worship, we 
admit ; we have bowed doAvn before dogs, and cats, 
and crocodiles ; we have bent the knee to all man- 
ner of vile graven images; we have kissed the feet 
of wicked popes ; we have poisoned our creeds with 
all manner of false doctrines and metaphysical sub- 
tleties, and have shed the blood of those who would 
not subscribe to them ; we have had recourse to con- 
fiscations^ slaughters, burnings; we lio,ve done all 
sorts of horrible, horrible things, in the name ot 
religion, but would it not have been a thousand-fold 
more horrible, had there been no religion at all in 
the world, had men never longed after or even 
til ought of a life beyond the grave ? Could there 
ever have been any education, or laws, or manners, 
or any society whatever, without the religious prin- 
ciple ? No, we should not have even risen to the 
dignity of savages, but would have been positive 
beasts. The earth might still, perhaps, have per- 
formed her circuit in the heavens — might still have 
been visited by the fair light of day — but what a 
rugged, howling wilderness she would have been, 
instead of the dear, glorious, venerable planet that 
she is. And is it not frightful to think of a great 



62 MUTTERINGS AND 

orb, rolling through space, fall of life and verdure, 
and yet without a single intelligent, responsible 
being upon its surface? To suppose such a thing, 
is to reflect upon the wisdom of the Great Designer. 
What a brilliant theatre, without actors or audience ; 
a school, without teacher or scholars ; a vast cathedral 
where no service is ever performed, no voice of 
prayer, no song of praise ever heard ; even such a 
worthless, meaningless thing would this green earth 
of ours have been without faith. 



Oh, what a rascally, abominable frame of mind 
I seem to be in this morning. Why, why is it ? 
everything about me is bright and cheerful; the 
sun is out in all his glory ; the birds are singing, 
bees humming, brooks chattering; the butterflies 
are all on the wing, the wind is playing with the 
leaves, and the flowers are nodding their j)retty 
heads to each other in friendly recognition; the 
children are frolicking with the dogs ; the kittens 
are cutting up their capers ; the old nags are kicking 
up their interesting heels in the meadow ; yes, every- 
thing around seems cozy and pleasant, and alto- 
gether delightful. Why, in old Nick's name, then, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 63 

am / so miserably cross and peevish ? Why do I 
feel (for I certainly do) like sneering, and snarling, 
and snapping, and damning eyes, and pulling noses ? 
I could pour forth a perfect volley of oaths and 
objurgations this very minute — on the very slightest 
provocation, I could call my best friend a puppy, 
fool, scoundrel — it would be the easiest thing in the 
world for me, now, to throAv these breakfast things, 
books, and chairs, out of the window, and myself 
after them. Bah ! what a savage. I should like to 
cut the throats of ten thousand sheep — I should 
relish the job amazingly — I could see a hundred 
pirates all strung up in a row, and laugh at them — 
hurrah for a second edition of the Massacre of the 
Innocents — I'd give a couple of guineas on the s^^ot, 
to see it. I would not raise a linger now, no, not I, 
to save the whole earth, and all which it inherit, 
from going to the dogs within this hour. Oh, that 
the centrifugal force were withdrawn, forthwith, 
from this abominable jDlanet, and that the whole 
concern would go to destruction, post-haste — ay, be 
driven with headlong rush, and dash, and crash, 
right against the sun's flinty ribs, and so be shivered 
into ten million million atoms — yes, all of us, men, 
women, children, beasts, fishes, fowls, domes, spires, 
towers, towns, mountains, groves, meadows, vine- 



64 MUTTERINGS AND 

yards, olive-yards, orchards, all, all, all. Oh, dear, 
what wicked, what silly fancies are these whims of 
a sick man — oh, no, I am no such truculent wretch 
at heart — 'tis these nerves that are to blame for this, 
these good for nothing, unstrung nerves of mine. 
And is it any wonder ? Did I get a wink, a solitary 
wink of blessed sleep, all through the livelong 
night ? no, not one. There I lay, tossing, and tum- 
bling, and groaning — imploring heaven to grant me 
even the least little paltry cat-nap — in vain, 'twas not 
to be had — and, pray, why was I thus refased, thus 
defrauded of life's choicest blessing ? What had I 
done, to be thus tormented ? Had I been an usurper 
and a murderer, like Macbeth, there would have 
been some meaning in the thing — had I even had 
Ihe "raging tooth," which kept that respectable 
man, lago, awake, I might have been reconciled to 
it — but to feel neither the sting of remorse nor of 
downright physical pain, and yet to be condemned 
to this horrible sleeplessness, is it not too bad ? Oh, 
brethren, sisters, friends, is it any wonder that I feel 
this morning like a child of wrath — -that I feel like 
calling names, and throwing stones, and smashing 
crockery ? Two or three more such nights, and I 
shall positively go mad. As it is, reason can liardly 
hold the reins — can hardly preserve order and dc- 



MUSINGS OP AN INVALID. 65 

cency in this rascally microcosm of mine — out upon 
it — away with. it. Would that I were dead and 
turned to dust — ^yes, dust I should like, now, to 
be blown into the eyes, and invade the nostrils, of 
some crusty old bachelor, 'twould do my poor ghost 
good to hear him rail and blaspheme. I will no 
longer be served thus — if there be any virtue in 
alcohol, or laudanum, or ether, or chloroform, I'll 
have it out — I'll have one good, long, sound, sweet 
sleep, if I die for it. Welcome, dear drugs, kind 
friends and comforters, welcome] But stop, stop, 
rash man, beware, are they friends ? Oh, no, no, no ; 
meddle not with them, be not beguiled by them, 
there is no true friendship in them, they are dan- 
gerous allies at best, servants that easily become 
masters, and when masters, grinding, crushing- 
tyrants. Take care, sell not thy free-born soul to 
such intolerable slavery as this — pretty business, 
truly, for the lord of creation to become rum's 
thrall, opium's bond-slave — ^better lie awake through 
all eternity, than come to this — far, far better never 
to have been born — the meanest weed that rots, the 
vilest reptile that crawls, is a king in comparison — 
no, no, have nothing to do with these fair-faced 
traitors, these fascinating devil's mixtures — and, 
now, out, out into the air — sit here no longer, fret- 



66 MUTTERINGS AND 

ting and grunting — run, jump, straddle old Methu- 
saleh, and gallop away like ten thousand Quixotes, 
or go into the orchard, and don't come out till you 
have climbed every blessed pippin-bearer in it — any- 
thing, anything to set this vile blood in circulation 
— away with you ! 



The same miserable tale to tell to-day — no sleep, 
just such another wretched, tumultuous, villanous 
night of it. I certainly did nothing, so far as I 
know, to earn it — I did not insult my stomach by 
over-eating or over-drinking — I took moderate ex- 
ercise — I avoided all disagreeable topics of conver- 
sation, or of thought — I read no exciting or brain- 
tasking books — I heard no painful news— I retired 
at a seasonable hour— I said my prayers — I closed 
my eyes — I lay quiet and hopeful in my bed ; but 
no, 'twas all of no use — v/ide, wide awake — I turned 
over — I whistled — I counted, first very slow, then 
faster, then as fast as I could rattle — in vain — then I 
thought of Sancho Panza, then of the Fat Boy, then 
I repeated Wordsworth's sleep sonnet — pah, what 
a miserable failure that was — then I went through 
a variety of solemn and elaborate mesmeric mani- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 67 

pulations— horrible humbug — I was wider awake 

than ever — then I tried to imagine myself at 's 

church, listening to one of his prosiest sermons — 
they certainly have done wonders, in their day, in 
that way — yes, they have been prescribed by skill- 
ful j)hysicians, and with great benefit to the patient, 
in cases where "poppy and mandragora, and all the 
drowsy syrups of the world" have failed — why did 
I not have one at my bedside ? What a comfort it 
might have been to me — then I thought of long 
bills and dreary answers in chancery, of treasury 
statistics, assessment rolls, old directories and re- 
ceipt books, annuity tables, and tables of logarithms, 
and of every other dismal, leaden document under 
Heaven ; but all, all in vain — ^then my temper be- 
gan to leave me — I muttered, I swore, I ground my 
teeth, I kicked the bed clothes right and left, I 
dashed my feet through the footboard, I pounded 
my pillow with my fists, I sprang out of bed in my 
wrath, I paced the room in utter despair, I tore my 
hair, I rushed to the window, I almost jumped out, 
I shook my fist at the silver moon and the bright 
stars, I went to my razor-case — took out my razor 
— brandished the glittering blade before my throat — 
with a cold shudder, returned it to its place — 
plunged once more into bed, half sobbing, half 



68 MUTTERINGS AND 

cursing — then I prayed God to relieve me, once 
and for ever, of this horrible load of consciousness — 
gradually I became calm again — still wide, wide 
awake — oh, how every sound smote upon my ear, 
even the murmuring of the wind, and the whisper- 
ing of the leaves, and the rippling of the river, 
things that should lull and soothe, only teased and 
distressed me — then the infernal ticking of the 
clock, and the barking of the dogs, and the rats 
squealing and capering overhead — yes, every chirp 
of every cricket, every nibble of every marauding 
mouse, seemed to conspire against my peace — so I 
lay, poor vigil-keeping wretch, till dawn ; then the 
insolent cocks began to crow — -confound them, they 
had had their pleasant naps on their snug roosts, 
and were as bright as buttons — presently the im- 
pertinent birds began to sing — no wonder — what 
a snug cozy time they had had of it, all night, 
sound as roaches, in their soft woolly nests — a mer- 
ry morning, and a happy day for them ; but for me, 
poor miserable devil, what sort of a morning have 
I had, and what sort of a day do I look forward to ? 
And do you wonder that I growl ? How can you ex- 
pect me to be rational or placable ? — a philosopher 
or a Christian? Instead of rej)roving, give me 
credit for not making a perfect Nero of myself — if 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 69 

you but knew with Avliat difficulty I refrain, tliis 
very minute, from hurling this boot-jack at yonder 
mirror — yes, at your own head,- you'd pity my 
hard case, instead of indulging in these ill-timed 
remonstrances. Tell me to be thankful, forsooth, 
for such an infernal existence as this ? Poh — poh — 
what judge so cruel as to sentence a criminal to it 
— Blackwell's Island is a treat to it — Sing Sing an 
Elysium — oh dear — oh Lord — faith, faith — patience, 
patience — oh, let me repeat, let me dwell upon, let 
me take to heart these precious words — let me think, 
too, of the sufferings of others — think of the thou- 
sands of poor wretches around me, the offspring of 
ignorance and shame, who are born, live, and die 
in the midst of filth and rags and oaths and crimes 
— is not my lot, hard as it is, a princely one com- 
pared with theirs ? Think, too, of those noble fel- 
lows, not many, to be sure, but still, thank Heaven, 
a few, in all ages that the sun has ever shone 
upon, who have cheerfally given up Time, Proper- 
ty, Health, Life itself, to their country, or their 
faith — and shall I then make all this noise and ado 
about the loss of a little sleep ? Shall I fall to curs- 
ins, because of a few uncomfortable sensations in 
this poor brain and these paltry nerves of mine ? 
True, true — but then these gallant brethren of ours 



70 MUTTERINGS AND 

had a glorious cause to sustain them — ^they had 
something worth fighting and dying for — a noble 
struggle, and well-earned victory, and a radiant 
crown, were theirs ; to be a martyr to one's faith is one 
thing — to be a martyr to the gout is another — but to 
be the victim of such a shabby, contemptible disease 
as mine, that dares not show itself, but goes sneaking 
about my system like a thief, for ever dodging 
the doctors, is there any glory or honor about that ? 
I can almost imagine it a privilege, to give up the 
gliost, in a handsome, dignified way, on the field of 
battle, fighting for one's country — but to slip and 
fall upon the pavement and so be run over and 
crushed beneath the wheels of some vile swill cart, 
what is there grand or consoling in such a fate ? 
Pah — what a savory similitude — what a sweet flow- 
er of rhetoric is this — enough, enough — a truce to 
these idle fancies, these desultory mutterings — bet- 
ter be listening to the singing of that tea-kettle — 
yes, the crackling of thorns under a pot is perfect 
melody and wisdom, compared to the vile thoughts 
that keep continually rising to my lips — silence 
then — silence — hold your peace, man — read your 
paper, take your tea, and hope for better luck tO' 
nisht. 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 71 

Oh, how mucli better to-day — thank the Lord! 
I feel like another man. Sleep, that so capriciously 
deserted me, came back with as little reason ; yes, 
balmy, refreshing, renovating sleep. I hardly know 
myself this morning — everything looks cheerful and 
hoi^eful — the face of nature, the countenances of 
my brethren seem full of smiles and kindness — ah, 
what lovely, what fragrant flowers — delicious — with 
what decided, emphatic relish did I plunge my nose 
into that great blushing rose — oh, let me be grate- 
ful for such a treat : yesterday I would not have 
looked at it — everything was dull and dismal then 
— nothing in nature or art could have interested 
me — I would not have raised my eyes to have 
beheld the sublimest peaks of Switzerland, no, nor 
the orchards of the Hesperides themselves, in full 
bloom, nor Eaphael's sybils, nor Guido's dainty 
Aurora, nor the fair front of the Pantheon, nor the 
sublime dome of St, Peter's ; now, I could gaze and 
gaze, hour after hour, upon their glorious, their 
ravishing beauty. Ah, what volume is that which 
stares me so reproachfully in the face ? yes — yes, 
4th Kent, the Law of Real Property — not to-day, 
not to-day, dear Chancellor, I have not pluck enough 
for that — ^rca-son is too much of an invalid yet for so 
long and dreary a journey — let fancy have the floor 



72 MUTTERINGS AND 

to-day — yes, 'twill be some time, I fear, ere my 
poor understanding will venture on sucli barren 
wastes as Littleton, and Coke, and Hargrave, and 
Fearne, and Butler, and Preston ; or even upon the 
comparatively "celestial, flowery lands" of Black- 
stone and Kent ; no, I will not bother my poor 
brain to-day, nor to-morrow either, with Remainders 
and Devises, Uses and Trusts, Fines and Recoveries, 
and the rest of your metaphysical mysteries. Be- 
sides, what's the use of my stowing away all this 
learned lumber in my attic ? Am I not a resident 
of the great Empire State? And has not our 
Sovereign Legislature, with one fell blow of its 
broom, consigned all these fine-spun cobwebs to king- 
dom come ? And will they not soon be brushed aside 
wherever they exist? Why waste my time, then, 
in trying to unravel them ? I nfight as well spend 
the day in carving baskets out of cherry stones— as 
well turn cloistered monk at once, and waste my life 
in making calvaries, and painting prayer-books, and. 
moulding saints in wax. What, when there is so 
much really entertaining and useful and necessary 
knowledge to be picked up all around me, shall I 
turn my brain into an old curiosity shop ? no, the 
sooner these legal subtleties go by the board, the 
better; let them slumber in the dust, alongside of 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 73 

Alchymy, and Astrology, and Heraldry, and Con- 
troversial Theology; better be lying under the 
trees, and watching the gambols of the squirrels, 
and listening to singing birds, and purling brooks, 
than to sit puzzling over such dreary mysteries. 
I would not give a single Act of As You Like It, 
for all the theological controversies that were ever 
heard or written ; no, no, no, Elia for my money to- 
day, or Anastasius, or the Inconstant, or the School 
for Scandal ; something sparkling, brilliant, pi- 
quant; something that will refresh the brain, and 
set the wits in sprightly motion. A speech from 
Choate now — ah, wouldn't it be delightful? One 
of his foaming, glittering, bubbling, dazzling, rain- 
bow-hued speeches ; light, frothy, pungent, full of 
fixed air and exhilaration. I do not ask for the 
deep tones, the weighty thoughts, the majestic 
wisdom of a Webster. I could not appreciate or 
enjoy them to-day, but the other would suit me to 
a charm ; alas, no such treat is in store for these 
poor ears. Well, I may at least regale my eyes 
and nose again with this exquisite bouquet — bless- 
ings on the kind hand that brought this charming 
company together — but one sight on earth more 
charming — a cluster of young, and innocent, and 
bright-eyed girls — oh dear, what right has such a 
4* 



74 MUTTERING S AND 

scamp as I to enjoy this privilege? Who can 
doubt, who dare deny the goodness of his God, 
after seeing such a beautiful sight as this ? "Who 
dare grumble at the workings of his providence ? 
Oh, how kindly, how munificently has he dealt 
with us ; suppose he had cut us off from all these 
things ; suppose he had not planted a single flower 
on the face of the earth ; suppose, after building the 
mountains, laying out the plains, and defining the 
bounds of ocean, that he had made man alone, 
leaving out all other animals ; that he had given 
him one or at most two sorts of plain fare to keep 
him alive, and had stopped there, and pronounced 
it good. Even then, would we have had any good 
excuse for murmuring and rebellion? But when 
he has thrown in all these ten thousand little deli- 
cate attentions and acts of kindness, has lavished 
all these exquisite gifts upon us, when he has 
treated, and does treat us, every day, as fond 
parents treat their children at Christmas, oh, how 
can we be the ungrateful sinners that we are ? 
Suppose again, that this atmosphere had merely 
ministered to our necessities, and not to our sense 
of beauty ; what would have become of this fine 
show of gorgeous clouds — this endless succession of 
brilliant sunrises and golden sunsets ; where would 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 75 

the rainbows have been, and the auroras, and 
the beautiful effects of moonlight ? We might have 
been cut off, too, with sand and stones, a few rocks, 
and possibly a little iron hid away beneath them — 
why, why throw in the gold, and the silver, and 
the rich-veined marbles, and the diamonds, rubies, 
sapphires, emeralds, pearls, and all manner of 
precious, lovely things ? Why were we not con- 
fined to one kind of grain, or one sort of berry, 
instead of this prodigal display of luscious fruits, 
and tender roots, and savory herbs ? How dare I 
scold, and regret, and repine at my lot, when I 
think of all these luxuries and delicacies and 
beauties innumerable — when I think of the glowing 
cheek of the peach, the fragrance of the rose, the 
stately plumes of the ostrich, the sweet song of the 
nightingale — when I think of prattling brooks, and 
sparkling waterfalls, and gently gliding rivers, and 
the dancing waves of ocean ? Nay, I have but to 
look at the delicate, glancing gold-fish in yonder 
vase, to know and to feel, not merely the power and 
wisdom, but the unspeakable goodness of my Creator. 
Why then so ungrateful ? why so prone to hard 
I ihoughts, and harsh words, and angry passions ? Oh, 
j.et me try to repent and reform. Down, down upon 
I'hy knees, raise thy hands to heaven and swear, 



76 MUTTERINGS AND 

solemnly swear, that another sun shall not rise and 
find thee the same that thou art now ; be more 
patient, and submissive, and forgiving, and self- 
forgetful and mindfal of others — imitate this hea- 
venly bounty — spare not of thy counsel to the 
ignorant, of thy purse to the needy, of thy sympa- 
thy to the sorrowing — sit not here sighing, and 
chiding, and hugging thy complaints, and cursing 
thy unlucky stars; but go forth and relieve the 
distresses of thy neighbor — try that remedy — the 
great Physician himself hath prescribed it — up 
then and away— change the whole current of thy 
thoughts, the whole tenor of thy life. Do so, man, 
now, now, or hide thy head in shame for ever. 



Ah me, after all the fine talk, the brave words of 
yesterday, I find myself the same miserable sinner 
to-day. How easy is it to make confessions ; but j 
to set in earnest about the work of reformation, thal\ 
task seems to be quite beyond me. I can pour forth] 
legions of regrets, myriads of promises, but not a| 
solitary finger do I lift, or seem likely to lift, in the 
blessed cause of amendment. Out upon such horri- 
ble infatuation. Awake, man, awake. Have yoa 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 77 

no heart left? no strength of purpose, no energy of 
will? Why, why thus given over to this inertness, 
listlessness, despondency ? Is it mere bodily sick- 
ness that affects you thus? or is it a sickly fastidious- 
ness, or a fear of opinion, or shameful sloth, or 
downright depravity, or a mixture of them all? 
The cause, alas, I hardly know ; but the effect, the 
miserable effect, I both know and feel. I feel too, 
that if I do not make some desperate effort to es- 
cape, and that right suddenl}^, I shall never be released 
from this vile thraldom. Well then, begin — begin 
this blessed day — now that your nerves are some- 
what restored, your health improved, your wits 
clarified, go at the glorious work forthwith ; ay, but 
there stands Satan, grinning and leering at me, and 
urging me by all that is unholy to take the other 
track — he would have me spend this quiet sunshin}"- 
day in some unprofitable, abominable manner ; he 
would have me exhaust my poor pennyworth of 
health and strength over the bottle, or the card-table, 
, )r something equally vile and ruinous. Out upon the 
.'-rafty, cursed Jfiend 1 Why do I not turn upon him, 
hen, like a good Christian, and with a withering re- 
tuke, send him packing to the hell from whence he 
Lame? Why sit thus silent and motionless, like 
16 poor fascinated bird, at the mercy of the ser])ent ? 



78 MUTTERINGS AND 

Have I no arm or voice to raise in my defence? 
Away, vile tempter, foul enemy of my peace, away, 
away ! Ah dear — what have we here ? a letter from 

; yes, another of those infamous scrawls of 

his. Hang me if I can make anything out of it — 
not one word in fifty can I even guess at — -confound 
the man, what right has he to try my temper, and 
trifle with my time in this way ? it is unbecoming, 
insulting. What would he say if I were to pay him 
a visit in my shirt sleeves ? I see no difference — 
one is as great a sin against good breeding as the 
other — no, not one word can I decipher ; nor do I 
believe the man breathes that can puzzle it out — 
Champollion himself would have bowed himself out 
of such a task — yes, he would have sooner ventured 
on a score of obelisks, and with iar better prospects I 
of success. What sort of reply can I make to such 
a production? Here goes — "Sir, your, I cannot 
call it, favor of a date which I am unable to deci- 
pher, has been received. After bending over it for 
three mortal hours, I find that I have an aching 
head, lame shoulders, and an impaired temper for 
my pains. In profound ignorance of its contents, I 
consign it to the flames — anything viva voce I wil 
listen to cheerfully — your misused friend P. S. For 
tunately I have your address, for the old boy him 



MUSINGS OF AX INVALID. 79 

self never could have made it out." There, if he is 
disposed to quarrel about the matter, he's welcome 
to : I consider him the aggressor, not myself. Plague 
take it, I have no doubt the thing was well worth 
reading — the man talks admirably — he's as clear as 
a bell, fluent as a mill-race — his ideas are beautifully 
developed, charmingly arranged. It is a positive 
treat to listen to him — the more the pity, that he 
should make such frightful work of it on paper. He 
would be a bold boy, who would venture to present 
such a terrible exhibition in the way of pot-hooks 
and hangers to his master. Whew ! what a sound, 
searching, satisfactory, thoroughly-earned thrashing 
would be his portion. Suppose this precious piece 
of penmanship had been a will ; now, what a time 
of it the legatees and lawyers would have had among 
them — what a waste of words, ink, time, money, 
temper ; blood, perhaps, would have grown out of 
it. Where would our liberties have been, this day, 
had the signers of the immortal Declaration sub- 
scribed their names in this villanous fashion ? How 
beautifully appropriate, too, would such a hand have 
looked in Washington's Farewell Address, or his 
Army Accounts. How it would have set off the 
Fairy Queen, or the Paradise Lost. Would the di- 
vine author have received even the ten paltry 



80 MUTTERINGS AND 

pounds he did, for sucli a looking MS. ? no, not as 
many pennies — no amount of genius can atone for 
sucli atrocities. Had the all-glorious Shakspeare 
himself only condescended to have written a decent 
hand, how many of those furious, windy controver- 
sies between pig-headed commentators would have 
been spared us, that now so annoy and disgust the 
student — yes, what a world of annoyances, great and 
small, have these scrawlers been at the bottom of — 
one loses one's patience to think of it. 

To add to the vexations of the day, I have had a 

call from that terrible old bore and humbug, . 

He is very anxious, it seems, about the salvation of 
my soul — he is shaking in his shoes, he says, on my 
account — and so forth and so forth. Now any in- 
telligent, bona tide regard for my spiritual well-be- 
ing, manifested in a becoming manner, and at the 
right time, I certainly ought to receive with respect 
— but as to the cant and stuff of this impertinent old 
hunks, it is quite intolerS^ble. Among other inte- 
resting statements, he said, that he himself had once 
been the chief of sinners. Hang such impudent pre- 
sumption — chief of sinners, forsooth ! the idea that 
such an obscure nobody as he, wdth scarce a salt-spoon- 
ful of brains in his miserable noddle, should dare call 
himself the Generalissimo of the Grand Army of 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 81 

sinners — is it not monstrous ? it Avere a good deal 
for Richard the Third himself to say, or Henry the 
Eighth, or Coezar Borgia, or Nero — but for such an 

ineffably small light as to pervert language 

in tlus way, it is too ridicidous — back, man, back — 
slink back to your true place in the ranks — meanest 
of sinners, when you loere a sinner — smallest of saints, 
if you are a saint — but I doubt you. You are quite 
too fond of your money-bags, for a good Christian — 
you had better be looking out for number one — sec to 
your own j)in-]3oint of a soul, and let mine take care of 
itself — impertinent old fool — how could the servant 
have let him in — it has completely spoiled my day 
and my temper — oh, how cross and bitter I feel — 
'twould take precious little to put me in a frenzy — 
yes, the merest trifle on earth would make me blow 
out in a way that wicked old Kidd himself would 
blush to hear, were he by. Ah, I had better go to 
bed — that's the safest place for me — and if to sleep, 
why all the better — and if I never wake up, better 
still. Pray, what is such a life as mine worth ? If 
I should hang on a few years longer, what would it 
all amount to ? I should wear out a few more boots, 
to be sure — read a few more newspapers — take down 
a barrel or two more of pills, probably — that would 

be pretty much the substance of it. Heigh-ho ! If I 
4* 



82 MUTTERINGS AND 

could only be sure now, of a nice comfortable nap, 
a quarter of a century long — such as Eip Van Win- 
kle had, and then wake up at the end of it, as fresh 
and bright as he was shabby and rusty — would not 
it be charming ? Well, well, no wishing and grumb- 
ling will mend the matter — and so to bed, to bed, 
to bed. 



Oh, what a blustering day ; the wind is howl- 
ing like a pack of hungry wolves ; what a clat- 
ter, what a bustle everything is in; confound 
the windows, how they rattle ; those poor young 
trees over the way have as much as they can do to 
keep their heels from being tripped up. Ah ! over 
goes a poor little youngster of a maple, cut oft", 
slender thing, in the very babyhood of its da3's. 
Well, it's all right ; no doubt, 'twas so ordered, so 
written, with other and weightier matters, in the 
book of destiny ; so we go ; it's tough little neigh- 
bor, there, will very likely fight out the gale, and 
a great many gales ; yes, will be standing there a 
century hence ; possibly my own, surely some of 
my neighbors', great great great grandchildren, will 
be frolicking round it some fine morning in the year 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 83 

1950. Where shall we be then ? ugh ! I shiver to 
think of it. Our poor carcasses, we know, long, 
long before that day, will have become cold victuals 
for hungry worms ; our poor bones will have quietly 
settled down into powder ; but the undying part ; 
the soul, the conscience, the aflFections ; where will 
they be ? ah ! dear, dear, dear, the wisest and best of 
us know but precious little about the matter. Keason, 
with all her airs and pretensions, her owl-like looks, 
and solemn head-shakes, her plausible conjectures 
and dashing theories, has mighty little to say in the 
way of satisfaction or comfort — Revelation, blessed 
thing that it is, is nevertheless amazingly sparing in 
its statements about the future life — a few vague 
facts are told us, a few dark hints thrown out, no- 
thing further, no details — the when, and where, and 
how — not a word, not a word on these points — and 
yet these are questions which it seems the most 
natural thing in the world to ask ; children are ask- 
ing them continually ; tell me, tell me, where shall 
I be, when this poor breath has taken leave of this 
miserable body ? Alas, that good book, that dear 
venerable quarto yonder, with all its glorious mes- 
sages, its glad tidings of great joy, will not con- 
descend to answer me ; well, well 'tis wisely so de- 
creed ; why then bother my poor head about the 



84 MUTTERIXGS AND 

matter ? I sliall soon find out — why tease and harass 
mj enfeebled wits with these terrible riddles ? no, 
no, my poor brain is in quite too unseaworthy a 
condition to venture out on these speculative voy- 
ages. Gracious, how the wind keeps it up ; how 
the dust flies ; the clouds are hurrying and tumbling 
along the sky, as if old Nicholas himself were after 
them. Ah, there goes a magnificent cluster ; were I 
one of those old Flemish artists, now, I would be 
stopping those fellows, and painting their interest- 
ing portraits. Wouldn't they look superbly, crown- 
ing one of Kuysdael's rich wooded landscapes, or 
Vandervelde's sparkling, spirited sea pieces ? They 
would certainly look far more appropriate in their 
pictures than they do here, sailing over this huge 
mass of bricks and mortar. Away they go, and 
their shadows after them, scudding over the house- 
tops ; there was a blast for you ; from the convul- 
sive movements of my fellow-citizens in the streets, 
I should say that it was pretty tough navigating 
against this wind ; to keep one's legs, even, seems 
positively to be an enterprise of great pith and mo- 
ment. Ah, what dignified personage is that, speed- 
ing along before the blast ? he is evidently going a 
trifle faster than he thinks consistent with his com- 
manding appearance and lofty social position ; he 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 85 

looks a general, or bishop, or judge, at the least ; 
but rude Boreas is uo respecter of persons, and is 
certainly taking most unwarrantable liberties with 
the skirts of his coat ; our friend would certainly 
show to more advantage now in the desk, or on the 
bench, than he does at this particular juncture; 
holloa, there goes his hat, and, by Jupiter, his wig 
after it ; this is too bad ; what is the poor man to 
do ? it will clearly not be the thing for a person of 
his majesty of mien and manner to run, or even 
shout after the fugitives ; is there no warm-hearted 
Irishman about, or stray policeman ? it seems not ; 
our friend gazes for a moment with a bewildered 
air, then beats a hasty retreat into a neighboring- 
house ; how that jade of a servant girl is laughing 
ns she opens the door; who can blame her? Ah, 1 
should like to hear his apologies and explanations 
to the famil}'- ; a rich scene, no doubt. Meanwhile, 
a young ragged scoundrel has pounced upon both 
hat and wig ; he will, at least, make an effort to re- 
tu]-n them to their owner ; not he, in faith ; off he 
goes, like Jehu, with the spoils ; holloa, there ; stop 
thief; the young scamp ; he'll, no doubt, be sport- 
ing that magnificent beaver this very night, in some 
Ion'/ cock-pit or other ; very likely it will be knock- 
ed over his eyes by some brother ragamuffin, while 



86 MUTTERINGS AND 

cursing and fighting about the ownership of some 
rascally stump of a segar ; " to what base uses may we 
come, Horatio;" it makes me sad to think of it ; yet 
what a very funny, absurd affair it was ; Hcraclitus 
himself would have grinned, had he witnessed it. 
How could he have helped it ; is it not an essentially, 
supremely ridiculous spectacle, to behold the hab- 
itual wearer of a wig suddenly deprived thereof, be 
it by an unmannerly puff of wind, or by the mis- 
chievous hand of childhood ? Can any moral worth 
on the part of him who is thus unceremoniously laid 
bare, or any intellectual preeminence, or any lofti- 
ness of station, prevent our having a good, hearty, 
glorious laugh at his expense ? no, assuredly not ; 
now and then, a thing will turn up, so intrinsically 
ludicrous, that, seasonable or unseasonable, right or 
wrong, there is no running away from it; laugh we 
must, or give up the ghost. "Who could control 

himself, for instance, when found that sow 

in his pew, on that famous Sunday morning ? How 
the old creature ever got there was always a mys- 
tery ; it was supposed that the heat of the weather 
had entrapped the Sexton into an unlucky nap, 
during which the veteran street-walker had pro- 
bably straggled in, and so blundered up the middle 
aisle, coming to anchor in the aforesaid pew. Who, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 87 

that was present, can ever forget the scene that 
occurred when the discovery was made? such 
poking, and pulUng, and kicking, and squealing, 
and grunting, ending, after much delay, in the forci- 
ble expulsion of the intruder ; it was altogether too 
much for the nerves of the congregation ; after many 
laudable efforts to hold in, it was found of no use, 
nature would have her way, a hearty laugh arose 
from all present, effectually driving away all im- 
pressiveness and solemnity from the sanctuary ; the 
clergyman himself could not resist the contagion ; 
the sacred desk fairly shook with peals of uncon- 
trollable laughter ; seeing the turn that things had 
taken, like a sensible man, he immediately dismissed 
us, stating, as he did, with some difficulty, that after 
what had transpired, it was quite out of the ques- 
tion to get through the services of the morning in 
the right spirit ; oh. Lord ! it makes me snicker to 
think of it, even now. Well, well, well, let's laugh 
while we can ; heaven knows there's enough to cry 
about, in this strange world of ours. What a world, 
what a frightful, complicated mass it is, of all sorts 
of mysteries ; nay, the experience of a single day, 
to a man of any reflection or sensibility, what a ter- 
rible jumble it seems of conflicting thoughts, feel- 
ings, occurrences. AVhat does it all mean ? Who 



88 MUTTERINGS AND 

can unravel tliis tangled skein ? Who can explain 
the morale, or the rationale of all these strange phe- 
nomena, in ourselves, and in things about us ? An 
hour ago, it was high tragedy with me, and now 'tis 
broad farce ; then, there was a meaning, a dignity, 
a solemnity in life and all that belongs to it ; then 
I felt like a rational, accountable being, with glorious 
faculties to be developed, with high aims for me to 
accomplish, and a lofty destiny in store ; now, every- 
thing seems a mere harlequinade ; I'd as lief be the 
clown in the ring as the king on his throne ; as lief 
be that bawling, begrimed charcoal vender in the 
street yonder, as the great champion of the consti- 
tution himself Why this absurd transition, this piti- 
ful inconsistency ? Why am I, one moment, full of 
feith and hope, disposed to look upon the bright 
side of men and things, cheerful, resigned to what- 
ever may happen, ay, ready to meet the hardest 
blows of fortune, with the calm submissiveness, the 
placid smile of a martyr, and the very next minute, 
perhaps, cursed with abominable thoughts, silly 
fancies, vile appetites, tumultuous passions ? Why, 
why is this frightful war for ever going on within 
us ? A little while ago, I felt like an intellectual 
being, eager to learn, delighted to grapple with any 
difficulties in art or science ; ready to climb tlie diz- 



ML".SINGri OF AN INVALID. 89 

ziest heights of mathematics, or to explore the 
dreariest labyrinths of law ; now, I shrink back from 
the simplest sum in the arithmetic. Out upon such 
ridiculous iucongi'uities, such vile weaknesses ! And 
then, again, Avhat frightful inequalities, what strange 
anomalies, what horrible casualties, do we see per- 
petually occurring in the world without us ; how in- 
explicable, how overwhelming at times ! Yonder 
goes a man rolling in wealth and luxury ; he was 
Ijorn to it ; he will doubtless die, surrounded by it. 
When he departs, they will put him in a sumptuous 
cofhn, shining like a mirror, and as richly lined as 
was ever lady's boudoir; they will give him a statel}" 
funeral, and solemn funeral rites ; and so they will 
send him to his long home, with a grand flourish of 
drums and trumpets ; fulsome obituaries will be 
served up in his honor, and in due time, a gaudy 
monument will rise over his remains, in some 
fashionable rural cemetery. The poor fellow that 
ran against him just now, and whom he cursed 
so, what a different time he has had of it in this 
world, and is likely to have ; that moving mass 
of rags began to draw breath in some dark den 
of shame and infamy ; a penniless, friendless vaga- 
bond from the beginning, thus far he has been 
kicked and cuffed along the highway of life, and he 



90 MUTTERINGS AND 

looks as if he expected to be kicked and cuffed up 
to the closing scene ; the terminus of his sad pil- 
grimage, most probably, a prison or the gallows ; no 
funeral ceremonies will be thrown away upon his 
poor carcass, no tear be shed over it, no grave re- 
ceive it ; no, 'twill be chopped up in some pro- 
fane dissecting room, most likely, for the edifi- 
cation of a set of noisy students, who will crack 
their vile jokes, and puff their filthy tobacco smoke 
over it, in mockery — oh, can it be, that these two 
men are the children of the same Heavenly Parent, 
alike creatures of his care, alike heirs of immortali- 
ty, ahke responsible at his bar ? Why, why then 
permit such terrible, such cruel disparities of condi- 
tion at the very outset of their career ? Why con- 
tinue them thus pertinaciously to the close ? Why, 
again, these frightful inequalities as to endowments ? 
There goes a man across the street, with a bundle 
on his head — it is his calling — he is equal to no 
other — his head is only Jit to balance bundles on — 
education can do nothing for him — he has been 
tried and found wanting — there is nothing there to 
educate — ^you could no more educate that man into 
a respectable merchant or competent lawyer, than 
you could by culture convert a squash into a cluster 
of delicious grapes — yes, and the very next person 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 91 

that you see there, following at his heels, but whc 
knows him not? Who knows not that capacious 
brow, those eyes that flash glorious lire, that tongue 
which sends forth its winged words, whose burning- 
eloquence sets the hearts of a whole nation in a 
blaze ? Why, oh why, is our Father in heaven so 
prodigal of his good gifts to the one, and so cruell}* 
sparing of them to the other? Why, again, put one 
immortal soul in a poor, paltry, contemptible body, 
with scarce a sound organ in it, a perpetual source 
of disquiet and pain to its owner, yes, a continual 
stumbling-block in his path, while another is en- 
dowed with a glorious set of nerves and muscles, a 
magnificent pair of lungs, and all other appurte- 
nances that can minister to its wants and delights ? 
Oh, is it fair ? Why does one man prosper in all 
his undertakings, everything he touches turning to 
gold, his very blunders even having a happy issue, 
while his neighbor, equally amiable, more intelli- 
gent, perhaps, is for ever in hot water, cheated by 
crafty villains, worried out of his life by hard- 
hearted creditors, and dying at last a poor desolate 
bankrupt ? Why is one fair island blessed with all 
that a land can be blessed with ; made the seat of 
wealth, power, art, science, civilization, while its 
neighboring sister, equally lovely by nature, is yet 



92 MUTTERINGS AND 

cursed with every evil under the sun ? — is become 
the Head Quarters of Wretchedness, Famine, 
Death ? Why permit these things ? Why, too, 
permit so much innocent suffering in the world? 
Why should all these poor wives and children un- 
dergo sorrow, poverty, ignominy, for the misdeeds 
of husbands and fathers? Why allow one man's 
drunkenness, or incompetence, to send hundreds of 
souls to their account, without a moment's warning ? 
Why allow the insane ambition of another to bring 
thousands and thousands to an untimely end upon 
the battle-field? Why, too, all these dire accidents — 
these famines, floods, pestilences, shipwrecks, earth- 
quakes, conflagrations ? What do they mean ? 
What lesson do they teach ? Who can decipher 
them ? Oh dear, what child cannot ask these ques- 
tions? What sage can answer them satisfactorily ? 
Who is not temj)ted at times, when pondering over 
these terrible mysteries, to become desperate, and 
unbelieving, and reckless ? One is almost dis- 
posed to ask, can it be, that God is actually watch- 
ing over this world of ours? Hath he not aban- 
doned the charge to underlings ; to a set of ne 
glectful angels, who are either slumbering on their 
posts, or have deserted them? Why then worry 
my head about the matter ? Why not let things 



MUSINGS OF AN INVAI.II). 93 

take their course ? Of what consequence is it, the 
life I lead, or the death I die ? Why care to pre- 
serve Law and Order in this little world within, 
when I see everything at sixes and sevens in the 
great world without ? Why care to be wise ? 
What does wisdom bring its owner, but a clouded 
brow, and sunken cheeks, and hairs white before 
their time? No, let's laugh and be jolly — let's 
drink, dance, fool, fiddle away our lives, and let 
Reason and Conscience go liang. A precious con- 
clusion to come to, to be sure — and yet, who does 
not at times give way to such rascally feelings? 
Or rather, who does struggle with them as he ought ? 
Are not the lives of most men a virtual endorse- 
ment of these horrible notions? Oh, away with 
them, irrational, sinful, perilous that they are — 
there is, there is a meaning, a deep hidden wisdom 
in these arrangements of Providence, though our 
poor feeble "wits cannot fathom it— there is a key to 
these dread puzzles — an answer to these soul vex- 
ing riddles — not here — the blessed life to come will 
answer all these questions — oh, without that foith, 
that hope, existence were a miserable, dreary farce 
indeed — meanwhile, are we, because thus ignorant 
and in the dark, to break out into rebellion ? To 
throw Reason and Conscience overboard, and let 



94 MUTTERINGS AND 

the vile crew of appetites and passions take com- 
mand of the ship? Oh, no, no, poor children that 
we are, we must obey, not question the orders of 
our Parent — scholars, we are to learn the lessons 
which the Great Teacher sets us, not set up a course 
for ourselves — a pretty idea, truly, that we babies, 
in this infant school of our existence, should array 
our little silly notions in opposition to the plans of 
the great Governor of the Universe — better submit, 
without useless noise or scuffling, to the discipline 
prescribed — how absurd, too, to be kicking and 
pounding, in tliis petulant way, against the door 
which the Master hath closed and barred against us 
— we cannot enter — we are wasting breath and tem- 
per, neglecting our tasks, and earning a hearty whip- 
ping for our pains. Alas, alas ! the most puzzling 
and painful part of the problem of life still keeps 
staring us in the face. Oh, why, why is it, that 
with such clear convictions of duty, with Reason, 
Conscience, Interest, all uniting to point out the 
right path, we will obstinately stick to the wrong 
one ? Why is it so much more natural, easy, con- 
genial to our feelings, to be wicked than to be good ? — 
to be earthly, sensual, devilish, than to be pure, 
and spiritual, and heavenly minded ? Why is it, 
that for one bona fide, handsome victory over the 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 95 

evil one, we must plead guilty to a liundrcd dis- 
graceful, ignominious defeats? Is it not so? There 
may be a lucky handful, with whom it is otherAvise, 
but are not an overwhelming majority of us just 
such infatuated beings ? Have we not been so from 
the start ? Only think of the frightful accumula- 
tion of evil thoughts, words, actions, that has been 
going on, from the creation till now ; contrast it 
with that meager heap of offerings to virtue — 'Olym- 
pus to a mole-hill. Why was it so decreed ? Why 
was it not rendered more easy, more agreeable to 
our propensities, to do right ? Why has Satan been 
allowed such authority, such fatal influence over 
our hearts? Why is he permitted to run away 
with so much of the wit, beauty, energy, talent of 
the world? Why were not these gifts consecrated 
to the cause of goodness? We do not ask to be 
mere puppets, propelled, wilhng or unwilling, along 
the path to Heaven ; that would render life a 
stupid, vapid affair, indeed — ^the dullest of all dull 
panoramas — 'but why compel us to fight against 
such terrible odds ? But how unmse, how wicked 
it is to dwell on these questions — such are the de- 
crees of Infinite Wisdom, and we must submit. — 
Why murmur then? Why indulge a vain spirit of 
curiosity, that may not be gratified ? We cannot 



96 MUTTERINGS AND 

render tlie devil a more acceptable service, tlian by 
lingering and grumbling over these matters — bet- 
ter take to our weajoons forthwith — else we are sure- 
ly lost. Besides, terrible as the chances against us 
seem, numerous as the victims are that are falling 
around us, the day is nevertheless ours, if we will 
it so to be — if we go into the conflict, with all our 
hearts and souls, and strengths — no more vain 
Avords then — no more idle questions, but go forth 
and meet the adversary, hopefully, manfully, and a 
noble victory, a radiant crown of glory, shall be 
vours. 



What a lovely morning — but I am in no mood to 
appreciate it — I am quite too miserable and good- 
for-nothing to relish this sweet sunshine, this balmy 
breeze — I seem to be without any vigor, either of 
mind or body — my poor wits are of no use to me at 
all — wayward fancies have taken possession of my 
brain, and Eeason has not strength enough to drive 
away the intruders — as to study, that is quite out of 
the question — I cannot pursue a solitary train of 
thought, faithfully, to any rational result — no pro- 
gress whatever am I making, in any branch of 



MUSIXr.S OF AX INVALID. 97 

knowledge — ali dear ! I look up at that library yon- 
der, and my heart sickens within me — I may not en- 
ter, I may not explore that storehouse of learning, that 
treasury of wisdom — did not the doctor, this very 
morning, in language the most emphatic, and with 
a hearty thump of his fist upon m}^ table, forbid it ? 
Well, well, be it so — I must be satisfied to be an 
ignoramus, a nobody — and yet, it is pretty hard to 
have to turn one's back for ever on such a goodly 
company — there are some choice spirits upon those 
old shelves — there's Goethe and Schiller and Dante 
and Boccacio and Cervantes and Moliere. Dear old 
Homer's there too, and Virgil and Horace and Cice- 
ro and Demosthenes and the glorious tragedians. 
AVhat troops of English and American friends, too — 
wits, poets, essaysits, dramatists, historians. Philoso- 
phers, too, and statesmen, and jurists, and divines 
of all denominations — and may I never again have 
the privilege of an hour's interview with any of 
these worthies? never again set at the feet of these 
great teachers, and drink in their words of wisdom ? 
Is life worth having, on such conditions ? What, 
must I abstain henceforth from tasting this pure 
nourishing mental food, and nibble away at newspa- 
pers, and such small talk as I can pick up in streets 
and pnrlors ? or, at best, snatch a hasty innutricious 
5 



98 MUTTERING3 AND 

meal at cliurclies or lecture-rooms, or mass-meetings, 
or theatres ? How can a soul grow and thrive on 
such sorry fare ? But why grumble ? I am fit for 
nothing better— the doctor's right — I have no busi- 
ness here, amongst these bards and sages and ora- 
tors — this poor brain is quite unequal to such ex- 
citements. If I persist in them, I shall become a 
hopeless cripple, perhaps lose my poor wits alto- 
gether. Away, then, away — why linger here another 
moment? I ought now to be out, scowering the 
streets, tumbling over boxes, bales, hogsheads, pric- 
ing rum and sugar and cotton, discussing Bank 
Stocks and Government Loans, and ship news, and 
rates of Exchange, and such matters — that's what 
my brethren are all about — they are astonished that 
I should want to be locked up here amongst these 
books. They'd as lief be sent to Sing Sing, as be 
compelled to pass two consecutive days in this little 
Sanctum of mine — they may be right ; and yet, to 
me, it is the most fascinating spot on earth, even now, 
when I can no longer enjoy or profit by its treasures. 
But away, away — don't sit here, inviting wretched- 
ness and imbecility — any exercise, any employment, 
I care not what, sooner than such a miserable state 
of things as this — better be opening oysters, or sell- 
ing cabbage, or accumulating soap-fat, all day long 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 99 

— anything, anything that will work a revolution 
in this outer man of mine. Oh, shall I ever know 
what it is to have a pair of rosy cheeks, and a strong 
arm, and a good stomach ? What is wit or learning 
worth without them ? Who would not rather be a 
garbage-gatherer, in high health, than a neuralgic 
archbishop ? Oh dear — health, health, health — the 
great blessing of blessings, the foundation of all that is 
delightful, useful, glorious in life ; why, why am I thus 
defrauded of it ? Can it be, that these very books, 
that I have so idolized, that I now leave with such 
regret, are at the bottom of all m}'- sufferings ? not 
so — I will not be so ungrateful as to tax them with 
these rascally feelings. They certainly have aggra- 
vated them, though. They certainly have cheated 
me out of much wholesome exercise, and sound 
sleep — have made me hurry down many a meal 
most villanously. Have they not given this beau- 
tiful curve to my shoulders, too ? Have they not 
driven these eyes of mine to spectacles, before their 
time ? Confound them, they are greatly to blame 
in this matter. Now that I look at them again, they 
have not half the lustre and the dignity they had — 
all is not gold that glitters — there is a great deal of 
rubbish, trash, humbug, mixed up with that wisdom 
and beauty — how much real, substantial merit, when 



lOQ MUTTEKINGS AND 

you come to analyze it, is there upon these shelves ? 
How much of it is mere covers and fly-leaves, and 
title-pages, and blank pages, and errata, and indexes, 
and tables of contents ? llow much is fulsome dedi- 
cations, and needless prefaces, and superfluous notes, 
and vain repetitions? — oh, how it keeps dwindling 
and dwindling away — the really solid, weighty, pre- 
cious thoughts do not occupy a hundredth part ol 
that showy assemblage — ^yon bulky Encyclopaedia, 
for instance, how much exploded learning it con- 
tains : Law and GosjDel in its day, but now proved 
to be unsound, almost worthless ; what folly it 
would be, to plough through all that rubbish ; that 
dainty collection of British Poets there, fifty vol- 
umes strong ; are there no conceits, puerilities, plagi- 
arisms, is there nothing false, indecent, blasphemous, 
under those sumptuous bindings? Sift them fairly, 
thoroughly, and what a frightfully scanty residuum 
of genuine wit and sound sentiment is lefb — those 
goodly rows of law-books, too, — is it all wisdom and 
Equity, and Truth, that is reposing under those 
stout buff covers ? 

Is it presumptuous, irreverent to say that a very 
large portion of their contents is mere quibbling, 
and hair-splitting, and word-torturing, and cobweb 
Aveaving ? That ponderous work upon the Logo?; 



MUSINGS OF AN IN VALID. 101 

there — iu four plump qiuirtus — is that all solid gold '/ 
"a gem of purest ray serene," or not? Is it a privi- 
lege, a luxury to read it? Has it done the sligliest 
good in its day and generation, or is it likely to in 
those that are to follow ? Is it a monument of wis- 
dom, or of folly? If of wisdom, what a blind, 
stupid, unappreciating community has it fallen 
upon; Avere it brought to the hammer this niglil, 
not all the persuasive eloquence of a Keese could 
I'aise a bid for it, unless some stray pastry-cook 
happened to be present. That Shakspeare, there, 
in twenty substantial octavos — how much of that 
vaat space does the divine bard himself occupy ? not 
a tenth — the rest is crowded with word}^, windy 
commentators — what business have they there, 
smothering the poet alive in this abominable man- 
ner ? For one single note that sheds any comfort- 
able light upon the text, there are a hundred that 
are mere exhibitions of spleen, or vanity, or arro- 
gance. Who wants to wade through such trash ? 
one's time would be far more profitably spent in 
fishing or shooting. But if it were all fine gold, if 
every page of every one of those books were worth 
reading, what folly to be bending over them for- 
ever — why surrender one's freedom, even to such 
masters ? Far, far better, to be sure, than an igno- 



102 MUTTERINGS AND 

minious slavery to Rum, or Cards ; still, is it not a 
perversion of one's faculties, a wretched investment 
of one's time ? an abuse, sure to recoil at last upon 
the head of the transgressor — oh, let me be warned 
then in time — let me fly from these fatal fascina- 
tions — let me go forth and read the great volume 
which the Lord himself hath written. Why waste 
all my precious hours on. these erring, imperfect 
transcripts ? Why be contented to pick up all my 
knowledge at second hand ? Who so silly as to 
linger over a picture of Niagara, Avhen the glorious 
original is at hand ? Would he not be a ninny, who 
would keep kissing the miniature of his mistress, 
when the sweet lips themselves were by, and smil- 
ing upon him ? And am I not just such a fool, to 
stay here, poring over these musty books, when I 
can see for myself all these fine, and wonderful, and 
mysterious things in nature, and the heart of man ? 
Let them go, then ; were my picture gallery all 
Claudes, and Salvators, and Coles, I would not be 
a prisoner in it ; give me the veritable blue sky, and 
the dancing brooks outside ; yes, better abandon for 
ever the society, even of Hamlet and Prospero, even 
of Rosalind and Imogen, if it is to cut me off from 
all other — from all intercourse with the wise men, 
and charming women, and dear children about me. 



MUSIXOS OF AX IX VALID. 103 

What a wretched morning I have had of it — 
thank my own miserable folly therefor. Satan, 
indefatigable angler for souls, ever on the qui vive 
for vietims, appeared before me, some two hours 
ago, with a niagnilicent mint-julep in his claws, got 
up by one of the most clever and fascinating of his 
imps, confound him — and I, like a greedy pike, 
devoured it — sucked it to the dregs ; of course I 
have felt horribly ever since ; oh, what inexcusable 
weakness, what infernal infatuation ! What, did I 
then, for the sake of a little momentary gratifica- 
tion, -thus deliberately insult ni}^ stomach, oppress 
my brain, turn myself, for the time, into a perfect 
numskull ? Yes, even so— oh fool, fool, fool — so wx 
go — the same old story, from Adam down — tempta- 
tion, yielding, misery, ruin — frightful words — on 
what page of human history are they not to be 
found? And yet, was I not far more sorely 
tempted than Adam was? Did any apple ever 
grow in Eden, one half so seductive as that 
delicious, that rascally julep? no, no; so fragrant, 
too, so picturesque, so alluring to eyes, nose, palate 
— is it strange that I was captivated by it, this 
warm summer's day ? that pyramid of ice, with its 
rose-colored summit, looking for all the world like 
an iceberg lighted up by the setting sun — that 



104 MUTTERINGS AND 

charming combination below, of strawberry, and 
pineapple, and mint, and sugar, and old mellow 
peach, and venerable cognac — plague take it, who 
would have believed that such a marvellous specimen 
of art was of the devil's own handiwork, a snare laid 
for souls, a smiling traitor? Ah dear, when will a 
wholesome beverage be half so inviting ? why arc 
we so cruelly tempted? Even now, in the midst of 
my suiFerings, silly wretch that I am, my fancy will 
keep dwelling on the charms of that insidious 
poison ; nay, I fear, that were the very same 
temptation presented to me to-morrow, I might be 
mad enough to fall disgracefully before it. Shame, 
shame, shame ! How can I ever expect to fight my 
way to the gates of heaven, if I have no more 
strength of will than this ? Alas, I shall never see 
those blessed gates; I am not hero enough to carry 
the day ; I am too fond of comfort and self-indul- 
gence ; I love to have my nerves tickled, my appe- 
tites humored ; I have no relish for briers, and 
rocks, and tempests; I deserve no crown — no laurels 
for these brows — that shabby nightcap becomes 
them better ; well, well, the great majority of my 
brethren are quite as bad, as sensual, as selfish ; 
there's a mean kind of consolation in the thought, 
is there not ? If I am going to destruction, I go in 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 105 

a crowd — there can be no doubt of that ; experience 
and Scripture both confirm it ; the latter is fright- 
fully explicit upon this point — ^yes, very little of 
the music and joy of heaven will be made and 
shared by us poor residents of earth ; to whatever 
extent the inhabitants of other planets may be par- 
takers therein, this vile one of ours will be very 
slenderly represented there ; an unpalatable, dis- 
couraging statement, truly, but there it is^ and we 
have got to make the best of it. And do not our 
own guilty, perverse hearts echo back its truth? 
What right have we to future happiness, living and 
acting as we do? Frightfully mysterious as the 
arrangement seems, who dare question the right- 
eousness of it ? No, whatever my destiny may be, 
let me at least have the decency not to mutter and 
grumble over it ; what claims have I, pray, on my 
Creator ? AVhat good am I doing, that I should be 
spared, even here, much less, rewarded hereafter? 
What business have I in heaven ? a fellow like me, 
who has no control over his propensities, but who 
tumbles, most disgracefully, as I did this very 
morning, into the very first temptation that lies in 
his path. No, " the economy of heaven is dark," 
but who dare say it is unjust ? who dare deny that 
the ffreat mass of men are vile sinners ? — that evil 



106 MUTTERINGS AND 

thoughts, words, actions, outnumber the good, even 
as the pebbles of earth outnumber its diamonds? It 
is awful to think of the amount of open, unblushing 
villany that is going on continually in the world ; 
but when we add to it the hundred-fold greater 
sum of secret crimes and vices — when wc thinlc of 
the multitude of private drunkards, and gluttons, 
and gamblers, and libertines there are — and liars 
and slanderers, and scandal-mongers — when we 
think of the manifold hidden villanies of trade 
— of the countless falsehoods daily told at coun- 
ters, false marks, false entries, false manifests — 
of the abominable tricks, quackeries, rascalities that 
degrade professional life — when we think of the 
frightful accumulation of slang, and trash, and filth, 
and profanity, and bestiality that is for ever going 
on in all sorts of dark holes and corners — and, 
saddest of all, when we think of the innumerable 
meannesses, and pitiful jealousies, and unjust sus- 
picions, and sour looks, and harsh words, that are 
perpetually marring the comfort of firesides, and poi- 
soning the peace of families ; oh is it not enough to 
make us hide our heads in shame for ever? What 
a terrible tale every hour has to tell to the record- 
ing angel, and has told from the beginning ; a few 
good deeds, and kind words, and devout aspirations, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 107 

liere and there ; but, oli, what an overwhehning 
preponderance of the bad — a pretty set, indeed, to 
go to heaven — precious company for angels ; no, 
no, not for us the pure and holy joys of paradise; 
if we are ever to partake of them, it can only be 
after ages of penance and purification — of weeping 
and sackcloth — how can it be otherwise? How 
can we evade the solemn requirements of justice? 

" It is the eternal law, that were sia is, 
Sorrow and shame must answer it." 

That we can get round it, that we can sneak into 
heaven, as it were, by means of a miserable death- 
bed repentance, what folly, what mockery to sup- 
pose it. No, the penalty must be paid, and to 
the full. After all, how profoundly indifferent 
and reckless most of us seem to be about the 
matter. So long as we have the use and enjoy- 
ment of these dearly beloved senses of ours, we 
are quite willing to postpone spiritual pleasures 
indefinitely ; and as to spiritual sufferings, why they 
are generally dismissed with a laugh or a sneer. 
To be sure, a relative or friend ivill die, now and 
then, and wc may be scared into a little thoughtful- 
ncss and self-examination, but it is soon over, and 
away we go again to the old appetites and employ- 



108 MUTTERINGS AND 

ments; as tyrant Kicliard. witli his drums and 
trumpets, drowned the voices of an outraged wife 
and mother, so do we seek relief in the din of busi- 
ness, and the whirl of pleasure, from the remon- 
strances of reason and conscience. When these bodies 
turn against us, when they are no longer faithful 
servants, but have become positive encumbrances 
and nuisances to ourselves and all about us, then, 
indeed, it is high time to be alarmed, and to mani- 
fest some little interest in the world of spirits ; when, 
at last, the summons to quit comes, "that fell arrest 
without all bail," when the paws of the monster are 
upon us, when there is no escape, but go we must, 
then the dread truth flashes upon us in all its hor- 
rors — then the judgment to come has a stern, earnest, 
terrible reality about it, 'from which we shrink back 
in despair. Oh, what a miserable set of cowards, 
then ; how we cling to life ; what remedy so loath- 
some, that we will not submit to it ? what quack so 
vile, that we will not hearken unto him, if we can 
but have a few weeks, days, hours' respite from this 
horrible consummation? anything but this — languor, 
pain, squalor, ignominy, mouldy bread and filthy 
water in a dungeon ; anything under heaven, so we 
keep this side the grave ; but we whine, and plead, 
and struggle in vain ; too late, too late— the day of 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 109 

reckoning is at luiiul, tlic dismal account is about to 
be unfolded, item alter item, even from the begin- 
ning — what a black and hideous catalogue — even the 
(jooil man's record hath enough in it to bhish and 
tremble over ; even that is quite full enough of blots 
and stains and shortcomings — but tlds vile scrawl, 
this tissue of abominations, this foul mass of folly, 
vanity and vice; oh, what a dreary perspective is 
here ; how the wasted, murdered hours rise up in 
j udgment against us ; no wonder that we shudder, 
and shrink back in dismay from the coming retri- 
bution ; yes, this hell, which we once cracked so 
many jokes about, this figure of speech, with which 
we embroidered our conversations so prettily, is a 
frightful reality, after all ; its horrors are at hand, 
the unspeakable horrors of remorse; there will be no 
escape from them, no bowl to fly to, no friendly drug 
to steep the senses in forget fulness, no quenching of 
the fixculties, then ; they will exist with tenfold life 
and vigor, and all, alas, turned into so many furies 
to torment us ; pricking and stinging us, as the 
loathsome past passes before us, in all its terrible 
details ; each day, each hour's guilt confronting and 
confounding us. Wliat saith the dread record? 
On such a day, iu a fit of savage, causeless wrath, 
I felled a poor old faithful servant to the earth. On 
3 



no MUTTERINGS AND 

such a day, my best friend and benefactor was vilely 
slandered, and I, mean coward, stood silent by ; lie 
died, soon after, a broken-hearted man. On such a 
day, I poured forth torrents of cruel, biting sar- 
casms, that sent my poor mother weeping to her 
bed — planting thorns in her pillow, whom I should 
have died to serve. On such a day, when I should 
have spoken, I uttered not a word, no, though a 
few kind tones and smiles might have saved that 
mother's heart from breaking. On such a day — but 
oh, God, spare us, spare us the remembrance of these 
horrible things ! Can any bigot conjure up a hell 
more terrible than the gnawing memory of deeds 
like these? Well may you shudder, guilty, trem- 
bling sinner, at the prospect of such tortures close 
at hand ; no evading them, now ; what, think you, 
that a few vain confessions, tears, and prayers will 
pay this frightful debt that has been thus long accu- 
mulating? no, no, no. And how long are these 
torments to last ? How long is the poor soul to be 
thus left to prey upon itself, ere kind mercy inter- 
pose? Alas, is it possible that, knowing and feeling 
these things to be so, I can still go on, day after day, 
piling error upon error, transgression upon trans- 
gression? Even so, just such miserable, infatuated 
creatures most of us seem to be. 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. Ill 

But are these things so ? Are men thus wicked, 
deathbeds thus terrible ? Is retribution a thin2; so 
friglitful? Arc we all such vile wretches? Is 
trade, then, a mere pack of lies and frauds ? Are 
professional men a mere gang of swindlers and pick- 
pockets ? Is there no high standard of honor and 
morality in public life? Are families so wretched? 
Are there no happy firesides, no loving hearts, no 
generous impulses in human nature ? God forbid, 
that any man should be found, to utter a thing so 
absurd and monstrous— there are^ there o,re good 
men to be found all about us, in the highways and 
in the by-ways of life — and pure and lovely women, 
angels before their time, who go about doing good, 
feeding the hungry, clothing tiie naked, comforting 
the distressed. " Blessings be on them and eternal 
praise" therefor. But oh, are there not more, far more 
unfledged devils around us, certainly amongst the 
men ? — fellows vA\o do their master's bidding here 
most faithfully, and who will be amongst his trusti- 
est agents hereafter. Yes, busy, crafty, cursed fiends 
in hell. I can't help thinking so, though I shall, no 
doubt, be called a cynic, and a misanthrope, for ex- 
pressing such an opinion. Ah, here comes my 

hearty, jovial friend . I wonder what he 

thinks about these things — he certainly does not 



112 MUTTERINGS AND 

look as if he troubled himself much about such 
speculations — what a bluff, rudely visaged fellow he 
is, to be sure — here he comes, puffing away, as usual, 
at a fragrant Principe — let's see what he has to say 
upon the subject. But I know what he'll say — he'll 
only laugh in my face, and call me a blue-skin — he 
evidently considers such sentiments as mine so much 
old fashioned Calvinistic cant and humbug ; or, at 
best, a sick man's whims — the Voice of Dyspepsia, 
not of Truth, He thinks this world a very com- 
fortable, respectable one, and its occupants, on the 
whole, a pretty decent set of fellows — as to Death, he 
only dreads it as a means of withdrawing him too 
soon from the banquet of life — so long as he can get a 
full meal of this world's pleasures and excitements, he 
has no notion of worrying himself about the next — 
well, it is not strange. He certainly has everything 
that can make this life agreeable — a palace to live in, 
a bright, cheerful family, every comfort, every lux- 
ury — high health, too, an unrivalled digestive and 
locomotive apparatus, and a gay, devil-may-care 
temper. He is, moreover, a large holder of Govern- 
ment and State Securities, which command higli 
premiums — he has his Bonds and Mortgages too, as 
solid and substantial as the round globe itself^ — 
nothing can shake them, save a second deluge, or 



ML.SiNGS OF AN INVALID. 113 

the great iinul lire — no wonder that he has a good 
opinion of a world which treats him in this hand- 
some, liberal manner. He would be quite resigned 
to stay here a century or two longer, on the same 
terms — oh that 1 could only give him this rickety 
constitution of mine for the next twelve months, and 
get his glorious one in exchange — a precious bar- 
gain for him, to be sure — would he still chatter away 
so agreeably, still wear that pleasant expression, 
think you ? And yet such an experiment might be 
the very best thing in the world, for both of us — 
might teach us many lessons well worth learning. 
Yes, we are both wrong — my views of life are quite 
too bitter and gloomy, his altogether too reckless 
and superficial. If I need the cheering, genial in- 
fluence of health, he is quite as much in need of the 
wholesome discipline of sickness — his conscience is 
getting quite too drowsy — his inner man wants stir- 
ring up — he ought to be scared out of this gay Epi- 
curian mode of living — he has no right to take the 
world so easy, when there is so much wretchedness 
and ignorance around him — he has no business to 
squander away his time and money as he does, on 
fleeting pleasures — what a world of good he might 
be doing, this very minute — there are, no doubt, nov.-, 
poor wrololies absolutely starving for want of work, 



114 MUTTERINGS AND 

within a stone's tlirow of that costly house of his — 
if he knew it, he would relieve them, I am sure, 
amiable, kind-hearted man as he is — but why does 
he not know it ? why is he not hunting up these 
poor, suffering brethren of his, instead of lounging 
along the streets in this pleasant, nonchalant way ? 
what has he been about all the morning? Playing 
billiards, perhaps — or sauntering through some pic- 
ture gallery — or lolling at home upon a luxurious 
sofa, reading some piquant novel — he will go home 
soon to a sumptuous dinner — in the evening, he will 
be found at some agreeable rendezvous or other, 
where there will be pretty faces, and lovely flowers, 
and soft music — all that can gratify and soothe the 
senses — that's the way he spends his life — it is made 
up of a constant succession of such scenes. Even his 
very Faith seems to be a mere minister to his love of 
ease and splendor — what a dainty pew he worships 
in — what brilliant stained windows surround him — 
what an exquisitely fretted roof above him — what a 
faultless choir sings praises for him — what a charm- 
ing sermon he has to listen to — as stately and beau- 
tiful as the temple itself — as cold and polished, too, 
as its exquisite marble pillars — what a choice and 
charmingly dressed company of fellow- worshipers is 
here — a terrible hardship, to be sure, to have to 






MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 115 

spend a couple of hours a week in a scene so luxuri- 
ous and elegant. What would those dear old pious 
paupers, the Apostles, have said to it ? what sort of 
a reception would thej meet with, were they sud- 
denly to make their appearance in these spacious 
aisles? they might stand all day, I reckon, with 
those plain, sunburnt faces, and those coarse, travel- 
stained garments of theirs, before a solitary pew 
door would be opened unto them. Oh, what a 
perversion, what a mockery of Religion — is there 
any heart, soul, meaning in these solemn rites, to the 
great mass of the gay people here assembled ? no, 
no — they might quite as well be sitting in state in 
their opera-boxes, or airing themselves in their 
sumptuous carriages — and are these lives of vanity 
and empty show and self-indulgence to pass un- 
questioned, unrebuked ? is there to be no chastise- 
ment for this abominable misuse of the gifts of the 
Great Criver? What, am I to turn life into a 
mere entertainment, run away from all its duties, 
devote myself exclusively to the gratification of 
my appetites and fancies, and shall I not be 
called to a most strict and bitter account for it 

hereafter? Isn't it high time, then, for to be 

alarmed about himself? Wouldn't a good fit of 
sickness be the most blessed thing, perhaps, that 



116 MUTTERINGS AND 

could happen to him? Might not a year of bodily 
languor and suffering be the means of bringing 
about the eternal well-being of his soul? "But 
how is it," he asks me in reply, "how is it, if this 
sick bed teaches such impressive lessons as you de- 
scribe, that you have not profited more by them ? 
Precious little good does it seem to have done yon^ 
in the way of mending your temper and character — 
for aught I see, you are quite as worldly, selfish, and 
sensual, as the gayest, heartiest buck in town." Too 
true — too true — yes, we are both of us sadly astray 
— both miserable invalids, so far as spiritual health 
is concerned — pitiful paupers in all that constitutes 
true riches — worthless, worthless indeed, such lives 
as ours — what is there noble, or even respectable, 
about them ? So for as all heroic enterprises are 
concerned, all conquests in science or art, all labors 
of love to others, we might as well never have been 

born — shame on us both ! how dare remain, 

another moment, the gay, reckless, chattering pleas- 
ure seeker that he is? And I, how dare I persist in 
this fretful, peevish egotism of mine? In a world 
like this, too, where there are so many glorious 
things to be done — so many victories over evil to 
be won, in our own hearts, and those of our breth- 
ren — so many mourners to be comforted, poor re- 



ML' SINGS OF AN INVALID. 117 

lieved, vicious re-claimed, ignorant instructed — so 
many truths to be explored, so many precious 
secrets to be won and wrung from Nature. How 
outrageous, then, in me, to sit here, whining over 
my paltry aches and annoyances — how unpardona- 
ble in • to spend his time, as he does, upon 

his appetites— why, to hear him talk, you would 
think that he cared a hundred-fold more about the 
curing of his meats, and the treatment of Ids wines, 
than about the very Constitution he lives under, or 
the Religion of his Fathers. Oh, let us awake, forth- 
with, from this infernal apathy, this abominable 
sensuality — let's try to be of some use in the world 
— why not commit ourselves, at once, to some noble 
enterprise or other? — there are enough of them, 
Heaven knows, all around us, that are crying aloud 
for friends and helpers. To the rescue, then, like 
good men and true — let's go at it, at once, tooth 
and nail, heart and soul — then we shall be leading 
lives worth having, and worth perpetuating — then 
we shall wear lasting smiles upon our faces, and se- 
cure abiding comforts in our hearts. Ah, me, shall 
I never taste the luxury of doing good ? Shall I 
never know the blessing of a quiet conscience? 
How long am I to continue this unprofitable, self- 
tormenting course? How long am I thus wilfully 



118 MUTTERINGS AND 

to defraud myself of all peace of mind here, and of 
all liope of a happy, glorious career in tlie world to 
come ? In the name of all that is dear and sacred, 
then, awake, awake, awake! 



called to see me to-day — rather a tumultu- 
ous visit, as usual — confound him, he seems to get 
more and more passionate and irritalile every day — 
I have a sufficiently bad temper of my own, but I 
am a perfect lamb alongside of him. The first 
part of the call was pleasant enough, too — we seemed 
to be chatting along very cozily and agreeably, 
when I, somehow or other, inadvertently let slip a 
remark on the subject of Puseyism, by no means in 
accordance with his High Church notions. He 
took fire forthwith — his face was in a blaze^ — his 
arms flew about as if there had been a dozen wind- 
mills present — he bespattered me with all sorts of 
abominable epithets and personalities, in a style as 
outrageous as it was uncalled for. Like a fool, in- 
stead of submitting silently and patiently to this 
shower of abuse, I got mad in return, and replied in 
the same strain, and so, before we knew it, there we 
were, like a couple of belligerent tom-cats, spitting 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 119 

and sputtering and growling, our Lacks up, eyes 
glaring, and very whiskers trembling with wrath 
— luckily a huge table was between us, else we 
should have undoubtedly resorted to the ultima ratio 
of fisticuffs — as it was, we kept up for a good half hour 
a pyrotechnic display that would have done credit to 
Vesuvius himself — till, finally, the absurdity of the 
scene seemed to strike us, all at once, and a hearty 
fit of laughter restored us to our senses — he apolo- 
gized, I explained, we shook hands — then we had 
another hearty laugh, and parted, at last, as good 
friends as ever. Ah dear, what a pity that a man so 
well meaning and kind hearted as he is at bottom, 
should yet be so u.tterly without self-government — 
one would suppose that the infinity of scrapes and 
annoyances that this peppery temper of his is for 
ever getting him into, would teach him wisdom — 
what a dance it has led him, to be sure — how many 
black eyes it has cost him — how many streams of 
claret has it set flowing from that fine Roman nose 
of his — how many nights at watch-houses, commit- 
ments for contempt, actions for assault and battery, 
challenges, expulsions from theatres and concert 
rooms, in fact, all sorts of disagreeable experiences, 
have been occasioned by this sad infirmity. Why, 
it was only the other night, that he was turned out 



120 MUTTERINGS AND 

of the theatre, for picking a quarrel with his neigh- 
bor — some fancied insult or other set him in a 
ft'enzy, as usual — from words they got to blows — a 
disgraceful row ensued, to the great annoyance of 
both audience and actors — it ended, of course, in 
the forcible ejection of both parties — to add to 

's mortification, it was the very night of 

Macready's farewell benefit, and the play, Lear — 
and , moreover, is a most enthusiastic ad- 
mirer of the great Artist, and had paid a very heavy 
premium for his seat — and so, just for foolishly giv- 
ing way to his feelings, he not only lost his place, 
had his clothes torn, and his face embelhshed, but 
likewise missed the finest dramatic treat of the sea- 
son, probably of the century — and yet, all this bit- 
ter experience seems to be completely thrown away 
upon him — no doubt he will have just such another 
fury-fit to morrow, as he favored me with this 
morning — no matter how trivial the cause may be — 
off he goes, like a rocket, at the very slightest prov- 
ocation — he will actually get mad because an omni- 
bus refuses to stop for him, or at being caught in a 
shower, or if he's too late for a ferry-boat — his ne- 
gotiations with hack-drivers invariably result in a 
breach of the peace — he generally comes off second 
best, too, on such occasions, being by no means ro- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 121 

bust, and having quite mist}'' notions of the science 
of self-defence. Poor fellow ! how many sad yet 
funny exhibitions he has made of himself — how he 
will curse a pair of tight boots — how furious a cup 
of cold coffee makes him. Arc the dice missing, 
wlien he wants to play backgammon? He forth- 
with becomes a "tiger in his fierce deportment." 
Is he hacking away at a tough goose? Oh, how 
wrathy he gets — it is as much as he can do to keep 
from throwing it, dish and all, right out of the win- 
dow — he has actually precipitated a dictionary into 
the street, for not containing the word that he was 
looking for. Does the Minister utter a sentiment 
from the desk, Avhich is unpalatable to him — up 
he gets, snatches his hat, kicks open the pew door, 
and bounces out of Church, in a huff — nay, he has 
even come within aa inch of having a most dis- 
graceful scuffle with a brother pall-bearer, over the 
grave of a friend. What a pity that he should be 
afflicted thus — that he should carry this devil about 
with him wherever he goes, to torment himself and 
everybody else. Will he ever change? Will he 
ever become a peaceful, placable, reasonable being? 
I fear not — the thing is too deeply rooted in him to 
be eradicated — it will go with him to his grave — 
Reason may preach, Religion may plead, and may 
6 



122 , MUTTERINGS AND 

perhaps gain an occasional victory over it — but as to 
permanently cooling down that liot, boiling blood of 
his, is it reasonable to expect it? Yes, 'tis that con- 
founded ardent temperament, those frightfully excita- 
ble nerves, that are to blame, not he — the man bears 
no malice in his heart — he would not wilfully maim 
a mosquito. Death, death alone can put out these 
fires that rage so within him ; Heaven grant that it 
be not a violent one — it would be far from strange, 
though, if his brains ivere knocked out by a club 
some of these days, or his breath driven out of him 
by a bullet. Ah well, I hope he will have a pleas- 
anter time of it in the next world — that that rest- 
less sjjirit of his Avill be lodged in far more quiet 
and agreeable quarters — that the elements will be 
mixed up in him far differently — the idea of his 
keeping up such a turbu^pnt, volcanic career 
through all eternity, is too frightful to dwell upon. 
May the Lord, in his mercy, so order it, and may 

, amid the genial scenes and glorious em- 

ploj^ments of his new existence, speedily forget his 
tumultuous life on earth, or at most, only recall itj 
as some wild and troubled dream. * 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 123 

His Most Gracious Majesty, the Sun, does us the 
honor of crossing the line to-day, and the elements 
are, of course, turning out for the usual semi-annual 
frolic — wind, rain, hail, snow, they are all out in 
full feather, for a three days' celebration ; c^ld No|)- 
tune is on hand, too, in grand costume, in honor of 
the occasion, and is doubtless, at this moment, giv- 
ing his friends a magnificent entertainment all along 
the coast, from Saco even to Tobasco — high times 
to-day amongst those roaring, ro licking wav.-s t f 
his — whew, how the wind howls — what a Happing 
of awnings, and fluttering of umbrellas, and creaking 
of signs, and rattling of windows, and slamming of 
doors, is going on all over town ! it is enough to 
drive a poor nervous man frantic. It is absurd to 
expect any quiet thoughts or pleasant fancies with 
all this plaguey racket and riot going on out-doors. 
What a day for poor Jack — but for his grog and 
pig-tail, he would never get through with it — he 
takes more comfort in them^ such weather as this, 
I reckon, than he does in the good book itself. 
Well, he must be a flinty-hearted fellow, who 
begrudges them to him now. Ah, those friends of 
ours, who put to sea two days ago in such high 
^lee, how they must be catching it ; what a search- 
ing and overhauling their stomachs are having this 



124 MUTTERINGS AND 

blessed minute ; tliey arc not now discussing the 
classic plains of Italy, the fascinations of Paris, the 
sublimity of the Alps — oh, no, there is no part of 
Jersey so flat and mean, that they would not gladly 
set foot on it, if they could — no village in Arkansas 
so rude and unsightly, but they would cheerfully 
spend the balance of their days in it, so they might 
only get out of that infernal, tossing, plunging, 
kicking steamer — patience, friends, patience — if you 
will see all these fine thino-s on the other side, the 
mouldy side of this great cheese of ours, 3-ou must 
]iay the regular toll ; Neptune will not be defrauded 
of his time-honored tribute, so make your peace 
with him, and with 3'Our stomachs, as speedilj^ as. 
possible ; think of Noah's voyage — think of those 
forty drear}^ days and dirty nights that he was 
drifting about, in that clumsy old ark of his ; here 
you are, in a magnificent ship, surrounded by every 
comfort and luxurj^, and in ten short days you are 
almost within hearing of the venerable bells of 
Westminster. What would St. Paul have said to 
these arrangements, or Columbus, or our PilgTim 
Fathers ? These mirrored saloons, that superb 
pantry are very much like the accommodations on \ 
board the Mayflower, are they not? Stop grunt- 
ing, then, for shame, and making those horrible 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 125 

faces. Ah dear, this is uo weather for me to venture 
abroad in — what is there in the paper, I wonder — 
hem — Eail Road to the Pacific — a colossal under- 
taking, truly — the editor waxes Avarni and eloquent 
on the subject — it must and shall be built, he says : 
ii" he don't live to take a ride on it, his boys and 
girls will; the country must have it — the commerce 
of the Union cries aloud for it — the Union itself 
will be stronger, an hundred-fold stronger, when 
this magnificent work is done ; the great father of 
roads, he calls it, worthy of the great father of 
waters, from which it sallies forth to greet the 
broad Pacific — and so on, in this strain, for a couple 
of columns. Somewhat grandiloquent, to be sure, 
still there is a hearty, earnest entliusiam about it, 
which is quite charming ; who can help using largo 
words, when talking about such amazingly large 
things ? Who can help being taken off his feet at 
times, when he thinks of the wonderful things in 
store for this dear land of ours ? — when he thinks 
of the magnificent picture which the valley of the 
Mississippi will present, a century or two hence. 
Fancy yourself taking an aerial journey over it in the 
summer of 2050 ; such an excursion may be quite 
practicable, long ere that time, in a comfortable air- 
craft of one's own, too, with a few choice com- 
o 



126 MUTTERINGS AND 

panions, going fast or slow, sinking or soaring, ad 
libitum, and alighting at one's pleasure, be it on 
sunny hill-side, or in heart of stately city — droj)ping 
to earth as easily and gracefully as ever bird lit on 
bough. Oh, what a panorama — how our senses are 
filled, and our hearts stirred within us, as scene after 
scene of beauty and grandeur rises around in never 
tiring succession. What fields of golden grain ! were 
there ever such before on the face of the earth? 
What vineyards, and orchards, and gardens ! Such 
noble forests, too, and groups of smiling hills ; such 
majestic rivers, crowded with life, their banks lined 
with gay villas, and shining villages, and thriving 
towns. As we rise and rise above it, how the fliir scene 
expands .• still the same beautiful objects greet us ; the 
same charming combination of all that is bountiful in 
nature and kindly in culture; there is no decay, no 
desolation, no, not one dark spot to be seen ; all is 
peace, and plenty, and prosperity. Still we keep 
rising, and now we can no longer hear the hum of the 
busy hive beneath us, or the pleasant sound of the 
church-bells ; but what a grand and glorious map is 
spread out around us ; we are looking down on happy 
homes, and well-tilled fields, and cheerful workers, 
and frolicking children, and comfortable flocks and 
herds ; no grim castles, no dismal convents, no huge 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 127 

unsightly barracks deface the picture ; but there are 
churches, and school-houses, and colleges innumera- 
ble, scattered all over this glorious valley ; tall fac- 
tories, and stately warehouses full of corn, wine, 
and oil ; depots, that look like towns, filled, too, 
with the products of all climes ; there are thousands 
and tens of thousands of swift steamers, for ever run- 
ning on the errands of this great multitude ; trains 
of cars, whizzing along continually ; telegraphs 
without number, speeding over the wires, inces- 
santly, their magic messages from north to south, 
from ocean to ocean. Still we soar and soar, and 
now the great Mississippi seems a mere thread of 
silver, and those tall trees upon its borders the 
tiniest of shrubs, and that vast city that crowns its 
banks, why, it looks as if you might stow it away 
in a toy-box. That little fairy spot on the opposite 
shore is the far-famed cemetery — Auburn is vene- 
rable, Greenwood is charming, but this far exceeds 
them both in beauty — where else, on earth, will you 
find such trees, and fountains, and winding walks, 
and exquisitely carved monuments? But let us 
descend, and visit this mighty metropolis at our feet 
— ah, how it grows and grows upon us and rivets 
the gaze as we approach — hark, faint murmuring 
sounds begin to rise firom it — down, down we go, and 



128 MUTTERINGS AND 

at last the spacious squares, and gay streets, and 
crowded quays, are clearly revealed to us — what a 
profusion of towers, and spires, and swelling domes 
is here — what a princely group of buildings is that 
directly under us — let us alight in their midst, yes, 
at the base of yon colossal statue. Ah, is that the 
world-renowned statue of Washington ? the same ; 
what a magnificent work of art ; as far before all 
others of the kind, as the man it commemorates was 
above all other men ; there are hundreds of others, 
in bronze and marble, in this vast and happy valley, 
but this, this is the great work, the pride of the 
nation, the crowning ornament of the Federal me- 
tropolis. That gi'and pile opposite is the Capitol ; 
there is but one other dome on the round globe that 
can compare with that which crowns its stately 
rotunda ; what splendors within, too ; what wealth 
of precious marbles, and statues, and bas-reliefs, and 
frescoes! Here the senators and representatives of 
sixty states meet and deliberate in harmony ; here 
the legislation of more than a hundred millions of 
people is conducted with a despatch and decorum 
and wisdom, before unknown in the history of 
nations. That beautiful building on the right, with 
the life-like statue of Franklin before it, is the Na- 
tional library, and alongside of it, in that little gem 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 129 

of a temple, the Supreme Court hold their sessions. 
Noble, venerable bod}' ! is there anything more dear 
and sacred to the heart of every American, than this 
serene, spotless, majestic tribunal? Those superb 
structures on our left, and behind us, are dedicated 
to the different departments — there was nothing in 
the Roman Forum half so fine or spacious — and, 
pray, what is that colossal edifice in the distance, 
with its forest of columns and noble cupola? that is 
the Federal Post Ofiice — what a pile, and yet they 
talk of enlarging it; it is not equal, they say, to the 
wants of the nation ; and you would believe them, 
too, were you to see the huge mountain of letters, 
and papers, and pamphlets, and documents, that 
daily passes through it ; the mail-bags would load a 
seventy-four, that will be sent away from that build- 
ing before sunset ; nor is it strange ; think of the 
tremendous accumulation of news necessarily manu- 
factured and consumed each day, by a nation of a 
hundred millions of freemen, a nation in which 
every mother's son and daughter of us, over six, 
can read and write, which transacts more business 
in four and twenty hours, than the whole globe did, 
in as many years, in the times of the Caesars. Hard 
by, in yonder circular edifice, is its great co-worker 
m the cause of commerce and civilization — what, 
6* 



130 MUTTERINGS AND 

that immense building witli tlie glittering dome, and 
the wings radiating from it in every direction ? the 
same — there you will find the great errand-bearer of 
the nations, the revolutionizer of the earth. It is 
just entering upon the third century of its career, 
and what wonders has it worked? why the famous 
labors of Hercules were mere child's play compared 
with its miraculous exploits. National Telegraph 
Office — brief, but magical words — household words 
to us, but what would the men of Plymouth have 
said to them ? what would the Pater Patriae himself 
have said? With all his prophetic wisdom, with 
all his visions of the future power and glory of his 
country, did it ever enter into his heart to conceive 
of a consummation such as this? But let us enter 
its spacious rotunda — what a busy scene is here, 
what a throng, what a hum — so is it always, night 
and day, day and night — not a moment passes when 
the sound of footsteps may not be heard ujDon these 
pavements — the winged words are for ever flying to 
and fro — messages of all kinds coming and going 
continually, from all the corners of the continent — 
from Bangor to Oregon, from Baffin's Bay to Pata- 
gonia. Do you wish to secure a passage for a friend 
in the next Hong Kong steamer ? pass under that 
arched entrance to the left, state your wants, and 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 131 

the lightning steed shall be harnessed up forthwith, 
and the whole thing will have been arranged by 
your San Francisco correspondent, before you get 
back to your counting house — or do you wish to 
know the state of the lumber market at Machias? 
or what hides are worth to-day at Montevideo ? or 
how United States sixes of 2100 left off at the 
second board at Valparaiso ? or whether the Mine- 
sota and Winnipeg Railroad company have de- 
clared their usual dividend to-day? or do you 
wish to crack a joke, or send a conundrum over 
the wires, to a friend at Acapulco ? the operators 
are all ready for you, gentlemen — you have but 
to pay a trifle, and all your questions shall be 
answered, your whims gratified — 'twill not be so 
easy to-morrow, however, for our President has a 
special Message to send to Congress — a long and 
interesting one, too — its subject, the proposed Un- 
ion of the two Republics. Yes, after years of dis- 
cussion and agitation, the proposition has, at last, 
been formally made to us by our South American 
brethren — and to-morrow are the documents to be 
laid before the nation — long before to-morrow's sun 
has set, will those documents have been read and 
canvassed in all the cities of the Union, Ah dear 
— they certainly managed these things very differ- 



1S2 MUTTERINGS ANTD 

ently in»the days of the Ampbictyonic Council, or 
of the Helvetic Confederation, or of the old Conti- 
nental Congress, God bless them. But let us es- 
cape from this bustling, exciting spot. Ah, what 
handsome marble house is that, with the lawn before 
it, and the fountain ? how beautiful it is, and how 
modest and unpretending, withal. 'Tis the White 
House. What, the Cliief Magistrate of the mighti- 
est nation on earth provided with no ampler ac- 
commodations than these? Even so — and thank 
Heaven that it is so. What better evidence would 
you have of the purity and stability of our Govern- 
ment, than this simple fact, that its Executive, the 
man who holds an office, by all odds, the most hon- 
orable, powerful, and influential upon the face of 
the Earth, lives in a house not one whit bigger or 
costlier than old Eough and Eeady himself occu- 
pied, more than two centuries ago ? Our popula- 
tion has increased ten-fold since then — our wealth, 
an hundred-fold. What mighty works have we 
done, meanwhile — what vast and magnificent tem- 
ples have we reared to Faith, to Justice, to Com- 
merce — what costly palaces have we dedicated to 
Education, to Charity, to Art — what splendid Halls 
of Legislation, in every one of the blessed sixty 
States— could you see them all grouped together in 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 133 

some stately park, and lit up by the setting sun, it 
would be a spectacle indeed — and the great Alma 
Mater of them all, yon majestic capitol, is it not the 
noblest fabric ever raised by wit of man ? and yet, 
Avith all this pomp and splendor around it, the 
same modesty, simplicity, economy preside over the 
Executive Mansion, as in the days of Washington 
and Jay. Oh, may it be so ever — and for centuries 
to come, may its occupants be as wise and worthy 
as he who now presides over it with such quiet 
dignity and courtesy! But what fine equestrian 
figure is that, in the square opposite ? Why, who 
should it be, but glorious old Zack himself, the ever 
memorable hero of Buena Vista — a spirited group, 
is it not ? The good people here are very proud of 
it — there is but one name more dear to us all than 
liis — those admirable bas-reliefs on the pedestals tell 
the story of his desperate fights — but we may not 
linger over them. Ah, here is the far-famed Federal 
Square, so celebrated for its fountains and arcades 
and brilliant shops — that superb building on the 
corner is the National Theatre, one of the largest 
and handsomest in the world — what say the bills ? 
" As you Like It," and the " Agreeable Surprise," are 
the pieces for to-night — what a powerful cast — that 
fascinating Miss Johnson plays Rosalind, too — 'twill 



134 MUTTERINGS AND 

be a great treat, most assuredly — tliere^s fame for 
you. What would Shakspeare have said, had this 
been revealed to him ? When this divine play was 
written, Jamestown and Plymouth were a wilder- 
ness — the Bermudas, the fabled haunt of Devils — the 
great Eiver of the Nations, unknown to civilized 
man. Would not, think you, the poet's eyes sparkle, 
and his cheeks glow with pleasure, could he be here 
to-night, in this beautifal temple, filled, as it will be, 
with his worshipers — could he hear once more the 
sweet notes of his bewitching Eosalind, in all their 
native grace and tenderness? But 'twould take us 
a twelvemonth to explore all the wonders and 
pleasant things of* this great Metropolis — ours is 
literally a flying visit, and we must resume our 
aeronautic journey forthwith. Up then and away — 
away, over the beautifal rolling prairies, no more, 
thank GTod, the haunts of wild beasts and savages, 
but the homes of happy Christian men — ah, what an 
interminable succession of corn-fields, and gardens, 
and hamlets, and towns ! On, on we go, and the 
limpid Michigan is in sight, and the great and pros- 
perous city of Chicago — there's a charming panora- 
ma for you — what grand, massive quays — what 
crowds of merchandise — what a congregation of 
steamers, brigs, barges, sloops, yachts, sail-boats, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 135 

corning and going, loading and unloading, gliding 
and dancing about in all directions ! Yon busy spot 
is the basin of the famous Grand Canal that binds 
together all these glorious lakes and rivers — what 
princely docks and warehouses ! Would not the 
Venetians, in the palmiest days of their republic, 
have stared in amazement at such a picture of com- 
merce as this? — and not a mere picture of com- 
merce either, thank Heaven, No, we are not look- 
ing down upon a mere nest of traffickers and money- 
seekers — bear witness, that magnificent Cathedral, 
that stately University, that noble Gallery of Art, 
worthy of fair Florence herself But we must leave 
them, and make our way across the fertile fields of 
Michigan, the happy home of the farmer — what a 
sea of golden grain is beneath us — what goodly 
rows of fruit trees, and scattered groups of oaks and 
elms — ^what multitudes of cattle, and sheep, and 
horses — the reapers are abroad, gathering in the 
precious spoils — all pleasant sounds and sights of 
rural life are here, to greet us — peaceful, beautiful 
landscapes. Again the scene changes, and we are 
flying over the sparkling waters of Erie. Such a 
fleet of vessels — as we advance, city after city rises 
up, and disappears, as if by magic — its harbor full 
of life ; its streets thronged with people. Ah, what 



186 MUTTElilNGS AND 

"huge, complicated mass of building is that on tlie 
right? Oh yes, 'tis the famous terminus of the 
great Erie Eail-road — indeed, five great Eail-roads 
come together here — there- is no busier spot than 
that, in the great Empire State — thousands of pas- 
sengers and hundreds of thousands of tons of mer- 
chandise pass through it every day — the men of 
Tyre, and Carthage, and Venice, nay, of London, had 
no conception of such a day's work — and to think, 
that it is but little more than two centuries ago 
that this region was a howling wilderness. But we 
will not pause to muse and wonder, for the Niagara 
is at hand, and we shall soon hear the voice of the 
mighty cataract. Hark to its deep, solemn music. 
Ah, 'tis the same glorious scene as ever — there are 
slight changes in the picture, to be sure — there is a 
handsome town here, and grand hotels, and a crowd 
of pilgrims, from all the quarters of the globe — but 
all else, as when it came fresh from the hand of God 
— ^the same frowning rocks, and wooded islands, 
and dancing rapids, and emerald sheet half hid in 
foam, and boiling whirlpools, and beautiful rainbows. 
But here let us take leave of our aerial conveyance, 
and return to our own century — this is no place for 
idle words and flights of fancy — let us wander about, 
in modest silence, as becomes true worshipers, in this 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 137 

great Temple of nature — we want no vain prattlers 
here. Disturb not these solemn services, but listen, 
with due reverence, to the melodious teachings of 
the great cataract. Hark to the majestic anthem 
which is here ceaselessly rising to God's glory, in 
his own magnificent Cathedral — through the dim 
ages past hath it sounded, through the long ages to 
come will it keep sounding forth his glorious 
praises — no place, this, for the frivolous, or sordid, 
or sensual man ; but to the poet, the student, the 
moralist, 'tis holy, haunted ground. Oh, may it 
remain so through all coming time! May the rash, 
innovating hand of man never be raised against it! 
Here, at least, may the fierce, restless spirit of !^i\)- 
gress be checked and abashed. Hither may thought- 
ful pilgrims come, in all generations, to gaze, and 
listen, and wonder, and worship, and give thanks 
to the great Creator and Father of All. 



The same tumultuous weather, to day ; I have 
been a prisoner, of course — tedious, tedious, tedious, 
— but it would have been tenfold more tedious, had 
not that sprightly, sparkling little coz of mine come 
to the rescue— yes, in the most amiable, winning 



138 MUTTERINGS AND 

way in the world, did she abandon her books and 
her music, to play battledore and backgammon 
with me — sweet thing— may Heaven send her a 
kind and worthy husband — how can I scold and 
scowl at her, as I do? Why, I actually threw 
double sixes three times running, and she never 
even frowned — had it been her luck, I should no 
doubt have behaved abominably^ — -oh Lord ! — I 
wonder what would become of us, between this 
and next New Years, were the women all sud- 
denly withdrawn from earth, and consigned to 
Heaven, in a lump — nay, would not the planet, 
before the end of a week, become the vilest of pig- 
pens? "Would not its occupants be turned into 
abominable slovens, blackguards, ruffians, thieves, 
murderers? Who can doubt it? Even were we 
permitted to live out our days, who would take 
life on such terms? What, a world where there 
are no mothers, wives, sisters ? No, no, the sooner 
such a planet went to the dogs, the better — it 
wouldn't be worth saving — dreariest, forlornest 
part of the universe, it could not be knocked out 
of it too soon — the very angels would turn their 
heads away, as they flew by it. Ah dear me ! I 
think I am entitled to a kiss, after that last speech. 
My neighbor has just dropped in to see 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 139 

me ; the same grumbling, croaking old soul as ever ; 
with everything under Heaven to make him happy, 
he will nevertheless persist in being miserable — 
he seems to take a perverse pleasure in looking on 
the dark side of everybody, and everything ; he is 
eternally predicting all kinds of rascalities and 
calamities — we are, even now, he says, on the eve 
of a tremendous explosion, in the political and 
financial world — nothing can prevent it — come it 
must, and ruin with it — no, not a solitary ray of 
hope can he see gilding the future — all is black, 
black, black. Hang the old raven ! — why the deuce 
didn't he stay at home? What right have such 
fellows as he to inflict themselves upon their neigh- 
bors? Haven't I blue devils enough of my own 
to annoy me, but he must set his vile crew of imps 
on me ? Besides, there's some shadow of an excuse 
for my grunting, with my wretched nerves, and 
rickety constitution — but he, the old rhinoceros, 
he ought to be ashamed of himself — why, if he 
were to sleep out all night, in this gale, it wouldn't 
hurt him — he'd be as well as ever in the morning, 
and as impatient for his breakfast — such a break- 
fast, too — the very bears would blush to see him 
at it — he grumble, forsooth — a man, who never had 
a sick hour in his whole life — a man, who carries 



140 MUTTERINGS AND 

about town sucli a magnificent stomach as lie does 
— wlij, if it were put up at auction this day, what 
a scramble there would be for it among the epi- 
cures — were ostriches the bidders, there would still 
be a rush for it — for shame, man — take a lesson 
from it; faithful, hard working, unmurmuring- 
drudge that it is, what a rebuke does it read its 
peevish, fretful owner — but why remonstrate ? 'Tis 
of no use — he'll never alter — he's been quite too 
long in the croaking business, to give it up now — 
for more than half a century has he been pouring 
forth his doleful prophecies — to be sure, each day's 
experience gives them the lie — but what of that ? 
What is experience worth, or reason, or remon- 
strance, when a man has once got a perverse habit 
fairly fastened upon him? What folly then to ex- 
pect any revolution in the inner man of this con- 
firmed old gmnter — croak, croak, croak he will, to 
the very last verse of the chapter — he even went 
so far as to say, just now, that he did not believe 
there would be a single mill in motion, or bank in 
operation, this time next year — that the Union will 
be dissolved long before then, and that we shall have 
a frightful civil war upon our hands in consequence 
— oh, of course, of course — he might as well have 
added, that this equinoctial storm will not leave a 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 141 

single tree standing, this side of the Alleghanies, 
and that it will be the death of every vessel on our 
seaboard — one remark is just about as sensible as 
the other. Pshaw ! one gets quite out of patience 
with such people ; what monstrous perversion, 
what base ingratitude to the Giver of all these 
countless blessings that we enjoy ; why, here is a 
man, who has been living on the very fat of the 
land, ever since he was weaned, and yet, as regu- 
larly as the seasons come round, you find him scold- 
ing about short crops and predicting starvation ; a 
man, who has had every comfort and luxury that 
money could buy, ever since he began 1?o creep, 
and yet eternally grunting about poverty and 
banlcruptcy — and so it will be, till death stops that 
muttering mouth of his ; oh, how abominable — 
when he ought to have been giving thanks, and 
singing hymns of gratitude, and sharing his good 
things with his brethren, and going about to re- 
lieve the distresses of his poor neighbors ; what 
excuse can there be, what escape from punishment 
can there be, for such an outrageous abuse of the 
gift of life, as this? But who am I, to sit in the 
seat of judgment? Am I a whit better, myself? 
No, no — alas, I have quite too much of the same 
rascally disposition — the same propensity to look 



142 MUTTERINGS AND 

upon the black side of life, to see nothing but 
clouds and storms in the future, to quarrel with 
the laws of Nature, to call in question the arrange- 
ments of Providence. And oh, how little a thing 
it takes to annoy me — how trifling a matter will 
upset this querulous temper of mine ; did I not get 
angry this very morning, at the sight of a few 
straggling gray hairs in my whiskers? Did I not 
rail and pluck at them, in a savage, vindictive 
spirit ? Did I not curse a faithful old coat too, and 
the man that made it, for simply parting company 
with a button ? Oh, is there any mishap in life so 
trifling and insignificant, that a man of a snarling, 
captious temper cannot turn it into an engine of 
torture, and himself into a perfect vessel of wrath, 
because of it? What folly ; why not take things 
coolly ? Why quarrel with the flight of time, the 
decrees of destiny ? And yet I do ; I am angry, 
this very moment, with the whole rising genera- 
tion ; I am not wilhng to be supplanted, to be 
driven off the stage of life — though my entertain- 
ment has been a meager one, compared with that 
of many of my brethren, still I am unwilling to 
leave it, and I frown and grumble because the 
great Giver of the feast so wills it. I am not satis- 
fied to bow myself out quietly, and with a good 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 143 

graxje, but seem determined to wait till 1 am col- 
lared, and forced out — what a contumacious, vil- 
lanous spirit ! I am mad, too, at my own ignorance 
and imbecility — my terribly limited powers of en- 
joyment and endurance ; I am mad at seeing, every 
day, ten thousand things that I cannot compre- 
hend — how many studies I have to abandon, pleas- 
ures to forego — ^yes, I am vexed, and almost furi- 
ous, when I think of the niggardly allowance I 
have to put up with, in the way of years, and 
nerves, and wits, and knowledge. Why is it so ? 
Why has not our Maker endowed us more gener- 
ously ? Why has he not condescended to let us 
into more of the secrets of his government, the pro- 
cesses of his works ? I am tired of being the in- 
significant ignoramus and nobody that I am — why, 
if I were to die to-morrow, I should not be half so 
much missed from this big town, as a seed from a 
fig ; can it be, that the earth itself is of no more 
account in the great Universe ? So the confound- 
ed astronomers tell us ! Hang their discoveries, 
say I — what a bitter pill to our pride — what a re- 
buke to our paltry squabbles for place and power. 
Oh, if I would only take the rebuke in the right 
spirit — if I would only learn from it a lesson of true 
humility and obedience ; but no, I only get all the 



144 MUTTERINGS AND 

more mad and outrageous, when I think of these 
things ; I can't bear the idea of cutting such a sorry 
figure in the great theatre of creation — I am angry 
at being the diminutive, ephemeral earth-worm 
that I am ; why was I condemned to live in this 
paltry, fourth-rate, provincial planet ? Why wasn't 
my lot cast in Jupiter ? Life would have been 
worth having, then ; threescore years and ten 
would have amounted to something, there — and as 
it is, how is the value of my poor earthly pittance 
impaired by this shabby constitution of mine. Why 
am I thus parsimoniously dealt with ? Why can't 

,7, like , study my sixteen hours a day, year 

after year, with impunity ? Why can't / toss off 
my two bottles per diem, as has done, with- 
out a solitary headache, for the last score of years ? 

Why can't / throw about the fifty-sixes as 

does, and climb ropes, and run races, instead of be- 
ing the puny, feeble wretch I am ? Why, to hold 
a mere umbrella over my head, for five minutes, 
nearly tires me to death ; a single glass of wine 
will raise the very old Harry within me ; and if I 
read more than a half hour at a time, I must pay 
for it with throbbing brain, and icy feet. Is this 
fair ? Haven't I some right to grumble ? And yet,' 
if I had all these things, I should not be satisfied or 



Ml'SINOS OF AX INVALID. 145 

grateful ; if I had, to-day, all the learning of Aristotle, 
the strength of Hercules, the eyes of Argus, the 
speed of Atalanta, I should still find something to 
fret and mutter about — 'tis my cursed, rebellious, 
abominable nature. 

But enough of this egotism — ah, how the wind 
keeps howling — go ahead, old Boreas, have the 
frolic out — topple down the chimneys, blow down 
the trees, sweep off the bridges, knock in the ribs 
of the poor old ships, drown the sailors, bury the 
merchandise in the yesty waves, keep it up, cele- 
brate your Trois Jours in grand style, while you 
are about it — Avhat care I? Am I not snugly 
housed, and seated by my comfortable fireside ? I've 
no brothers on the deep — no wines, or silks, or spices, 
tossing about upon the billows. I can enjoy this wild 
music and dancing of the elements ; at least, can be 
cool and philosophical on the subject ; but they, 
the poor bereaved and plundered ones, what say 
they to this vile mischief-making tempest ? Do 
they see the finger of God in it, or the wild, wicked 
pranks of Satan ? Patience, friends, patience ; keep 
your tempers, rebel not, blaspheme not ; these are 
not the bowlings of malignant fiends, no, nor the 
manifestations of God's anger; the injuries they 
inflict, grievous though they be, and hard to bear, 
7 



146 MUTTERINGS AND 

yet what are they, compared with the benefits they 
yield us ? Could we get along at all without them? 
Would the air be fit to breathe, the world to live 
in ? What a dry, drooping, dreary planet it would 
be, to be sure. Instead of grumbling, then, ought 
we not to welcome this glorious gale ? Is it not 
out upon a right royal and beneficent errand ? a 
messenger of love, not wrath ? a piirifier, invigora- 
tor, breathing new life into all the veins and alleys 
of the earth? preserving the wondrous frame of 
things about us, in all its strength and freshness ? 
Ought we not to greet all the phenomena of nature, 
all the dispensations of Providence, in the same 
spirit ? The few casual mischiefs that they cause, 
are they to be named for a second, with the 
innumerable, ceaseless blessings that they bring? 
Any other view of the matter is heathenish and 
savage. Oh, 'tis these cursed propensities, these 
vile passions of ours, that are for ever blinding our 
eyes to the truth. Ambition, pride, avarice, 
sensuality, these are the false lights that are for ever 
leading us astray ; how can we expect to see our 
way clearly, to read aright life's lessons, while we 
keep such company ? Out upon them ! why can't 
I turn my back upon them at once, and for ever, 
and seek straightway the blessed society of the 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 147 

Virtues? Faith, Ilope, Charity — they are the true 
friends — the only companions, guides, interpreters, 
for life's puzzling, perilous journey. Alas! I know 
them not. I have read about them, to be sure, in 
the good book — ^have heard about them in sermons 
— have seen them in pictures — gazed admii'ingly 
upon their sculptured charms, as they grace the 
monuments of popes and saints ; but the things 
themselves, the blessed originals, I feel that they 
are strangers to this wayward, perverse heart of 
mine. How can I expect to be happy, then? to 
have peace within, or sunshine without ? Happy 
indeed! — oh, no, no — all is disorder, tumult, rebel- 
lion within me. What right have I to expect any- 
thing else, filled as I am with false views, harsh 
judgments, blind prejudices, tormenting doubts, 
sinful desires ? — ^precious materials for happiness, 
these. Is it any wonder that I grumble ? that I 
find fault with God's doings? that I am constantly 
growling at myself, and picking bones with my 
brethren ? Why will I consent to remain in such 
a state ? why do I not rise up at once, and thrust 
out these vile tenants, that are breeding perpetual 
warfare and wretchedness in my heart? Away 
with you, foul, rebel crew of appetites and pas 
sions — torment me no longer — away — away ! 



148 MUTTERINGS AND 

The blessed sun is out again, at last. We have 
liad a beautiful, tranquil Sabbatli day — went to 
church this morning. Well, has it done me any 
good ? am I any wiser or better for it ? not a whit — ■ 
no, I am not an inch nearer the kingdom of heaven 
than before — my own fault, no doubt; I didn't go 
in the right spirit ; I didn't go as a poor, erring sin- 
ner should go, to ask pardon for my offences, and to 
return thanks for undeserved benefits — oh, no, I 
went for exercise, for change of scene, to hear the 
music, to have my fancy tickled, my wits brighten- 
ed, I was disappointed, most thoroughly cheated ; 
the atmosphere was oppressive, the music poor, the 
sermon heavy as lead — I had much better have 
staid at home, reading Jeremy Taylor — still, I was 
served right ; I had no business to go, from such 
motives. And j^et, was it altogether my fault ? — I 
think not — I think the minister himself Avas quite 
as much to blame — at least, he seemed to me to be 
thinking of himself far more than of his Maker — 
to be more anxious about parading his elocution 
than about exhibiting the truth. Could a man, 
really in earnest about the salvation of his own. 
soul, and of those of his flock, have read the hymns 
in that pompous, theatrical style ? could he have 
put up such a petition to the throne of Grace, so 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 149 

Stuffed with polysyllables and expletives? What 
was the use of that long string of attributes, drawled 
out in that affected way ? why go into all those his- 
torical details? what business had they in a prayer? 
why that painfully elaborated climax, towards the 
close ? why that awful dropping of the voice at the 
word Amen ? Why, too, spend a good half hour, 
piling up this vain mass of words, wearying us all 
out in body and mind, when a few brief, earnest, 
fervent sentences would have been infinitely more 
edifying to the hearers, more acceptable to God ? 
And above all, how could a pastor, worthy of the 
name, presume to put such sorry feed as that upon 
his sheep, in the way of sermon ? Meager, misera- 
ble trash ; all noise, wind, gesture ; baldest of com- 
mon-place ; not a solitary new idea ; not one fresh, 
fragrant flower of fancy, from beginning to end ; a 
mere showy humbug throughout ; and yet, strange 
to say, this man is popular; he has a handsome, 
well-filled church, and a substantial salary. But is 
it so strange, after all ? perhaps not ; for though thus 
( deficient in learning, genius, and anything like true 
) eloquence, yet has he not a fine person, graceful 
\ attitudes, a musical voice ? is not his linen always 
/ spotless ? hasn't he always a pleasant word for the 
,, women? doesn't he handle the babies admirably, at 



150 MUTTERINGS AND 

all christenings ? doesn't he form a noble figure-head 
for a wedding ? Was St, Paul himself at all com- 
parable to him in any of these particulars ? and are 
not these gifts quite as acceptable, in this degenerate 
age, as fervor, piety, self-devotion, thoughts that 
breathe, and words that burn ? I can't help think- 
ing, that if the glorious Apostle were alive to day, 
and were willing to accept a call from this congre- 
gation, he wouldn't have the opportunity — three- 
quarters of them would be for retaining the present 
incumbent; the other would only make them un- 
comfortable ; would be quite too personal ; would 
be saying all manner of unpalatable, irritating 
things. He never would consent to having a pro- 
fane drunkard for an organist ; he couldn't sit still 
in his pulpit, while a notorious, shameless harlot 
was officiating in the choir as first soprano — oh, no, 
he would be breeding a perfect tumult in the church, 
within a week; as it is, things go on smoothly — 

minds his own business, and lets the music 

committee mind theirs; he sticks to his text, never 
ventures on unwelcome reforms, never handles for- 
bidden topics, and see what a quiet, snug, cozy 
flock he has of it. Oh, what vile mockery, what 
heartless, soulless rites are these — and in how many 
churches are these mummeries practised, Sabbath 



MUSIXGS OF AN INVALID. 161 

after Sabbath, in the blessed name of Christianity. 
Are these things so, or am I a vile slanderer? 
How many real, devoted Christians were there pre- 
sent this very morning ? a poor baker's dozen or so, 
at most ; the rest of us were a mere set of worldlings — 
vacant, sleepy-looking old people, and restless, flip- 
pant young ones — ^how listless, how indifferent! 
Had the preacher been enlarging on the properties 
of contingent remainders, instead of hammering 
away, as he did, upon the necessity of justification 
b}^ faith, we couldn't have looked one whit more 
uninterested or stupid. Had the scene suddenly 
been changed to the opera, and had Ellsler come 
bounding on the stage, we'd have all been wide 
awake in a twinkling, I warrant you — what a 
stretching forth of necks, what a levelling of opera- 
glasses; or had Burton come rolling in, with his 
funny face, and his broad jokes, we should have 
been, instanter, bright as buttons. Oh, what abomi- 
nable perversion, what an insult to the great founder 
of our faith, to put his name to such hollow, worth- 
less services as these ! Do we not n^d another Paul, 
indeed, to stir up these stagnant waters, to alarm 
these slumbering consciences, to create a thorough 
revolution and reform in the church ? Oh, dear ! 
how delighted we all were to be let out, and to fall 



152 MUTTERINGS AND 

back upon the old track — the belles to pick up their 
beaux, and the elders to talk cotton and politics. 

I met at the door; I asked him what he 

thought of the discourse ; the reply was in his usual 
quaint, queer style ; " Ah," said he, " if they only 
keep on preaching in this way, the grass will soon 
be knee-deep in the streets of heaven." This re- 
mark seeming to shock a sensitive old lady behind 
us, it only encouraged him to add, that all prudent 
capitalists would make their investments in the 
other place — he is fond of such irreverent, absurd 
speeches — anything for a joke. On the way home, 

stumbled on ; he looked as cold, sour, bitter, 

as ever — he'd not been to church, not he — catch 
him wasting his time in that way — he don't believe 
in any such nonsense — but what does he believe in ? 
poor unhappy skeptic, he has no faith in himself or 
his neighbor, or his Maker, in the past or the future. 
History he considers little better than a string of 
lies — revelation an arrant forgery — prophecy a 
clumsy contrivance of the priests — so with the vir- 
tues, patriotism, philanthropy, piety, what are they 
to him^ but hollow, unmeaning sounds? He seems, 
indeed, studiously to reverse the poet's beautiful 
maxim — to be eternally spying the soul of evil in 
things good. I asked him if there was any news. 

! 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 163 

" No, nothing special, I believe. The papers seem 
to be full of the usual stujff — silly editorials, lying 
obituaries, rascally money articles, the usual amount 
of swindling, robbery, murder, fools getting mar- 
ried, and so on — the same miserable old story as 
ever," After he had gone on in this strain for some 
time, I asked him if he had read that volume of 
Channing, which I lent him the other day. His 
lip began to curl — " Yes, I have looked over it ; 
pretty Avriting, very pretty writing; the man cer- 
tainly knew how to weave sentences, but " 

"But what?" "But I have no faith whatever in 
such views, myself; I consider them altogether one- 
sided and superfieial ; no man who knew the world, 
and what sorry stuff it is made of, could have held 
them. He did not know the world, how should 
he ? he only saw the bright side of things ; sur- 
rounded by every comfort and luxury, idolized by 
his friends, watched and tended like a royal baby, 
hemmed in continually by all the proprieties and 
elegancies of life, kept in a glass-case, as it were, 
like a bit of porcelain, what did he know of the 
common crockery around him ? what did he know 
of the villanies and brutalities of the world ? Did 
he ever explore that den of wickedness and wretch- 
edness — St. Giles's ? Did he ever witness the horri- 
ble spectacle which the Five Points present ? If 
7* 



154 MUTTERINGS AND 

he had, we should have been spared much of this 
fine talk about the dignity of human nature, the 
ineffable value of every human soul — fudge." 
" You think him wrong, then ?" " I do, most 
certainly — I consider him a mere enthusiast and 
dreamer," "You are no believer, then, in the 
perfectibility of the race ?" "Not I — at any rate, 
not on this earth — I don't believe the world is 
one whit wiser or better than it was before the 
Flood. Men may be tamed down a little — they 
may not cut each other's throats quite so freely — 
may not plunder each other quite so openly — there 
may be more intelligence among them — a greater 
slioio of right and justice — but' what does it all 
amount to? Is not the devil served just as faith- 
fully as ever ? the nature of those services is some- 
what changed, that's all — what the men of old times 
did in a bold, manly way, with their swords, Ave do 
in a quiet, sneaking one, with our pens — they took 
lives, we murder characters — they robbed, with 
violence, on the highway, we prefer the peaceable 
employments of picking pockets and forging signa- 
tures. Is Satan any loser by the operation, think 
you? not he — on the contrary, he is a decided 
gainer, by the very ease and secrecy with which 
our rascalities are committed." " Oh, these are 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 155 

cheerful, encouraging views of yours, certainly — 
delightful ones, too, to impart to children — but do 
you really think so ? Do you really think that this 
poor planet of ours has made no progress whatever, 
in the long flight of ages ? Have we not gained 
somewhat^ in the way of manners and morals, upon 
the men of Sodom and Gomorrah ? Is our worship 
quite as blind and cruel as that paid to Baal, and to 
Moloch ? Has civilization, then, done nothing for 
the race ? Christianity nothing ?" " Precious little 
that I can see — they may have modified the out- 
side of things somewhat — but is not the same 
cursed canker gnawing at the heart of man, as 
ever ? There is less unblushing, disgusting brutality 
on the earth, I grant you, but are not our imagina- 
tions and desires just as foul and abominable as 
ever? We do not pass our children through the 
fire to Moloch, but are Ave not ever ready to sacri- 
fice ourselves, children, health, character, every- 
tliing, to accursed Mammon ? As for civilization, 
has it not multiplied the vices of men far more than 
it has strengthened their virtues ? Christianity, 
say you? why, the no»imaZ Christians on the globe 
are less than a quarter of the race ; and as for the 
real, genuine disciples of Jesus, the smallest island 
in the Pacific would accommodate them all. Oh 



156 MUTTERINGS AND 

no — men liave done far more to corrupt Christian- 
ity than Christianity has to purify men." " I don't 
agree with you — men certainly have abused and 
perverted it, most vilely — what gift of God have 
they not ? but with all these abuses and perver- 
sions, still is it not, has it not been, is it not des- 
tined to be through the ages to come, the greatest 
blessing that has ever descended from Heaven? 
The evils that have sprung from it, what are they, 
alongside of the benefits it has conferred? How 
many lives has it redeemed from sin — how many 
hearts has it sustained in the midst of trial and 
temptation — how many death-beds has it cheered — 
what a stimulus it has been to human wits ! How 
many glorious works, in all the departments of 
Science and Art, has it not given rise to ! How 
many noble enterprises, of all kinds, has it origi- 
nated and fostered, and is fostering, all over the 
globe ! Eeally, it seems to me neither grateful nor 
decent, for a man living in this enlightened age, 
and in this happy land of ours, to speak thus slight- 
ingly, if not slanderously, of Christianity, as you 
do. Had you been a poor citizen of Kome, in the 
days of the Caesars, had you been a witness of the 
horrible atrocities constantly perpetrated there, 
there might have been some excuse for your 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 157 

gloomy, skeptical notions — but in this age of peace 
and prosperity and light, they seem to me quite 
outrageous." "Poh — poh — this is mere talk for 
effect. I say again, I don't see this peace, and light, 
and progress that you speak of — at least, nothing 
that will bear inspection and analysis. I repeat it 
— I don't believe there has been any radical change 
in the hearts and lives of men, from the beginning. 
I have no doubt that we are, at bottom, quite as 
great rogues and ruffians as they were when the 
keel of the ark was laid — to be sure, the school- 
master has been abroad, very extensively so, since 
then — ^there is more enlightened self interest in the 
world — we are beginning to find out the folly of 
fighting eternally — or rather, we quarrel more with 
Nature, less with our fellows — we are not such 
blood-thirsty savages, perhaps, as we were — but 
still the spirit of fight and selfishness and rebellion 
rages within us — the objects of our passions may 
have changed somewhat, but the passions them- 
selves, are they not alive in our hearts, in all their 
fury and venom ? What folly, then, to represent 
it otherwise — ^to assume that we are so much better 
than our forefathers — to put on this jubilant, saucy, 
self-righteous tone, so fashionable in this preten- 
tious nineteenth century of ours, and in this coun- 



158 MUTTERINGS AND 

try of loud talkers — the idea that there is any 
substantial difference between the Americans of 
to-day, and the Greeks and Eomans of two thou- 
sand years ago — humbug — humbug — humbug." 
"I differ from you — I think we do present a much 
more respectable appearance; that we are much 
more acceptable objects in the sight of our Maker, 
so far as decency and sound morals are concerned, 
than the men of old — you yourself admit, too, that 
we have gained wonderfully upon them, in the 
way of knowledge — that we know far more about 
the earth we inhabit — about the heavens above us 
— that we have made precious discoveries, in all 
the kingdoms of Nature, that they dreamt not of." 
"I am not so sure of that — at any rate, the facts 
will not justify our bragging in the way we do — 
just look at the matter a moment — here we have 
had possession of the planet, heaven only knows 
how many thousand years, and how much have we 
really found out about it ? How much of the mere 
crust of it have we faithfully explored, and subju- 
gated to our purposes ? How much of it still be- 
longs to the beasts ? How much is in the exclusive 
possession of the elements ? We are fond of boast- 
ing of our victories over these last, but when they 
really arise in their might, what a wretched fight 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 169 

we make of it ! A pretty figure truly does the great 
lord of creation cut, when the tropics send forth 
their hurricanes, and the poles their squadrons of 
frowning icebergs. They, too, the venturesome fel- 
lows, who have tried to find out the secrets of these 
polar regions, what have they gained by the exper- 
iment? Where are they? Shall we ever know 
what has become of them ? With all our wit, skill, 
science, will we ever be able to find them, or even 
bring their poor frozen bodies home, for Christian 
burial ? Pretty fellows we, to crow about our ex- 
ploits — why, we haven't yet had wit and energy 
enough to cut the two Americas apart — we still 
keep sending our ships thousands and thousands of 
superfluous miles, wasting alike hves, time, and 
money — it seems as if we wouldn't take the broad- 
est hints that Nature herself gives us." " But, my 
friend, be reasonable — these things require time — 
don't forget that our Continent only hove in sight 
four centuries ago." " True, and is not that fact 
itself a perfect satire on the enterprise of man ? — a 
very spirited, industrious set, to be sure, who have 
been so many ages finding out the limits of their 
place of residence ! Ah ! had we been the energetic, 
excellent set of creatures that you try to make us 
out, the world might have been worth living in. 



160 MUTTERINGS AND 

But no — then as now, men have ever preferred 
fighting and frolicking and destroying, to working 
and studying and doing good — who does not prefer 
lolling over a novel, or lingering over the wine-cup, 
to digging into a dry book of mathematics, or going 
about hunting up objects of charity ! Ah ! when we 
think of the knowledge, prosperity, happiness, there 
would have been on the earth, had men reall}' been 
wise, temperate, dihgent, from the start, and then 
look at things as they are, we'll not be in a hurry, I 
imagine, to crow or bluster." " True — but has not 
a great change come over the world, of late ? If we 
have been, hitherto, little better than a set of worth- 
less ignoramuses, as you seem to think, are not the 
prospects ahead very different ? Has not a new era 
dawned upon society ? I think so. I think the 
astounding discoveries of the day, in physical 
science, are the precursors of wonderful revolutions, 
not only in the face of Nature, but in the character 
of man. Is there not, already, a restless energy, an 
insatiable spirit of curiosity abroad, that will not be 
quieted ? a determination to explore, and sift things 
to the bottom ? . Is there not an amount of intel- 
lectual capital employed, in all sorts of great enter- 
prises, without all parallel in the experience of the 
past? It really seems as if the earth were at last 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 161 

to be thoroughly overhauled — the wilderness to be 
invaded, in right earnest — the wild beasts to be 
ferreted out of their dens — savage life to be put an 
end to — the hidden treasures, the dormant mineral 
wealth, the latent water-power of the planet, all to 
be brought to light, and pressed into the service of 
man. A grand new crusade seems to have com- 
menced, to which the famous ones of old were mere 
trifles — what were they^ after all, but so many su- 
perstitious, sanguinary expeditions ; and for what ? 
to recover a small patch and corner of the earth 
from the clutches of infidels. Noio, we mean to re- 
deem the whole length and breadth of it from 
rugged, savage Nature, and to win it over to the 
blessed dominion of civilization and Christianity — 
nor is our victory to be won by mere fire and sword 
— oh no — no such vulgar weapons for us. Steam 
and Lightning — they are the instruments that are to 
work these wonders — to bring about this glorious 
revolution — to bring the nations together — to cre- 
ate a grand interchange of interests, ideas, senti- 
ments, all over the globe — to give us all, at last, a 
common language and a common faith — yes, to 
turn the whole race into one grand, peaceful, lov- 
ing, thriving family. But of course you laugh at 
all this, and consider it so much sentimental twad- 



102 MUTTERINGS AND 

die." "I certainly cannot agree with you, nor do 
I see any such magnificent prospects ahead. That 
we are going to have pretty bustling times on the 
planet, for the next fifty years or so, seems clear 
enough — there will be a great increase of steamers 
and locomotives, no doubt — a great many thousand 
miles of telegraphic wires put up — a heavy agricul- 
tural, manufacturing, and commercial business done 
• — an enormous amount of travel — a frightful multi- 
plication of bags, barrels, bales, boxes, circulating 
in all directions, But how this is to revolutionize 
human character, I can't see, for the life of me. 
Men will be wider awake than ever, I suppose — 
will drive sharper bargains — will have more facts 
at their fingers' ends, and probably a good many 
more lies at the ends of their tongues. As to the 
dawning of a new era, I certainly do think that 
phrase better adapted to a Fourth of July Oration, 
than to the conversation of sensible men. Nor do 
I believe the day will ever come, when there will 
not be a pretty large assortment of wild beasts on 
the earth, and a fair sprinkling of savages — they 
may have to change their quarters froni time to 
time — ^but while Commerce and Civilization are 
making one place too hot to hold them. Decay and 
Desolation will ever be on hand, to furnish them 



MUSINGri OF AN INVALID. 163 

with another. As to men being in any great 
hurry to become a band of brothers, I really can'b 
see any violent symptoms of it, just yet — or that 
the English language is going to supplant all other 
languages — or that all other religions are going to 
be swallowed up in Christianity. Such vast pre- 
dictions seem to me little better than the absurdities 
of Milierism." " Ah well, we don't agree upon these 
matters, that's very evident — I think you wrong, 
both in depreciating the past, as you do, and in 
supposing that the future is to be a mere repetition 
of it. I think, as I said before, that a magnificent 
drama has already begun in the moral and physical 
world, and that America is to play the leading part 
in it^that the developments which another cen- 
tury or two will bring about, will be altogether un- 
paralleled in human history. What a spectacle 
will the Pacific and its shores and islands present, 
by that time — what myriads of beautiful steamers 
will be ploughing its waters — what stately cities will 
line its coasts — how will its now quiet, desolate 
gulfs and harbors be filled with life — what an inter- 
change of men, and merchandise, and knowledge — 
yes, we shall carry Science, Art, Religion, to the 
remotest wilds of Asia — we shall put new life in 
her old veins — make a new Continent of her — root 



164 MUTTEEINGS AND 

out her miserable superstitions and despotisms, and 
give her in their place the priceless blessings of 
Liberty, and Education, and Christianity. And is 
there nothing grand, or inspiring in such a pros- 
pect as this ? Does not one's heart swell within him, 
when — " "Hold on — hold on, if you please. Do 
you mean to say that all these miracles are to be 
worked, within a century or two ? and yet, to do 
you justice, you are quite modest, compared with 
many of the orators and editors of the day — to hear 
them rattle on, you would suppose that before an- 
other ten years, all Siberia would be cut up by 
railroads and telegraphs, and overrun by a penny 
press. I must take the liberty of differing from 
these gentlemen. I can't help thinking that the 
nineteenth century, at least, will be gathered to its 
fathers, before the cultivation of the Anglo-Saxon 
language and literature will be considered a neces- 
sary part of the education of the young men of 
Tobolsk, or eke of Irkutsk ; nor do I believe that 
there will ever be a very furious rush for the 
Waverley Novels in Kamschatka. It is a mighty 
easy matter to talk about these things, but when 
we come to try the experiment, when we try to ex- 
tirpate the laws, customs, languages, religions, that 
have been planted for so many ages among these 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 165 

hundreds of millions of Asiatics, we shall find it a 
tolerably tedious, painful, doubtful process, I should 
say — and should it succeed, should the consumma- 
tion ever be reached, and Asia arrive at the pinna- 
cle of (what we call) civilization, say, a thousand 
years hence, what will have happened in the mean- 
while? will not poor, old, worn-out Europe have 
gone by the board ? have relapsed into barbarism 
and decay? Will not London and Paris, by that 
time, have become as miserable ruins as Balbec and 
Palmyra now are ? Shall we not be losing as much 
on one side of the planet, as we are gaining on the 
other? I have no more doubt of it than I have 
that the planet itself, by this time next year, will 
have got round to the same part of the heavens 
through which it is now whizzing. But I have no 
time to discuss further with you the possibilities of 
the future — the realities of the present are waiting 
for me, in the shape of dinner. And so I must bid 
you good morning." A strange genius. We might 
have talked till sunset, without agreeing — and yet, 
I am quite too prone to indulge in the same gloomy, 
doubting views of life, myself — can they be the 
true ones ? Oh no, no. What better evidence of 
that, than the very influence they exert upon the 
temper and conduct? how souring, depressing, 



1G6 MUTTERINGS AND 

paralyzing ! If we persist in cherishing them, we 
are sure to become misanthropists, and, probably, 
unprofitable idlers — perhaps, alas, before we know 
it, poor miserable drunkards. It is very easy 
to give way to them. There is a sneaking kind 
of comfort in dwelling on the worthlessness and 
monotony of existence — in reading the future by 
the past — in seeing the same eternal dreary round, 
alike in the experience of life and in the move- 
ments of the stars ; in talking about the littleness 
of man, and of earth — it is easy to say that this 
planet of ours is of no more consequence in the 
great creation, than a solitary grape in a vineyard ; 
it amuses the fancy, to dwell upon such images — 
but is there any real truth or soundness in these 
notions ? Do they who express them, believe 
them in their very hearts ? Are they not at war 
with all our best affections, our loftiest aspirations? 
Had men really cherished them, would they have 
ever done the little good they have in the world ? 
No, it would long since have become a mere sty 
for hogs. How absurd and impious, too, to sup- 
pose that God should have lavished so much power 
and wisdom and goodness, in behalf of a set of 
beings, who, frail, ignorant, sinful that they are, 
have yet reached the highest point to Avhich they 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID, 167 

ever can go ; to suppose that tins earth is to wit- 
ness no grander exhibitions, moral or intellectual, 
than it has already witnessed ! Has then the planet 
seen its best days? Are all the great truths of 
science found out ? Has art reached its highest 
point ? Have the long ages to come no new devel- 
opments of any kind in store? Are all future 
human perfo; mances on this great stage to be, at 
the best, mere wearisome repetitions of the past ? If 
so, indeed, then the curtain cannot drop too soon ; 
let the old orb go, it cannot be reduced to cinders 
too quickly; and 3-et, it seems hard to destroy a 
world that has already produced its Washington, 
its Shakspeare, its Raphael — one can't help feeling 
that there are glorious things to come out of it 
yet — one can't help looking forward to magnificent 
results, from all these mighty movements in educa- 
tion and colonization, from these World's Fairs, 
and Conventions of all kinds, Eeligious, Political, 
Commercial, Literary, Scientific, Artistic, that are 
being held continually, both here and in Europe. 
Was there ever anything like it before ? When 
ever before has there been so much brain -work in 
the world ? — such an array of cultivated minds all 
acting at once ? And how easy to bring them to- 
gether for consultation ; how easy to get up a grand 



168 MUTTERINGS AND 

family gathering of the learned from all the corners 
of the land — lightning runs for them, steam fetches 
them ; before we know it, almost, there are a thou- 
sand D. D.'s or M. D.'s at our doors. Is it reality, 
or is it magic ? And is there nothing to come out 
of all this interchange of ideas, this collision of 
wits ? No golden fruit to be gathered ? No grand 
problems, social, moral, scientific, to be solved, for 
the benefit and improvement of the race ? What 
folly to suppose it ; what folly to take a discourag- 
ing, disheartening view of the future, when all is 
really so bright, and full of promise I How much 
better to have faith, faith in human nature, in the 
progress of the race, in the amendment and purifi- 
cation of the world we live in, no less than in the 
blessed world to come. Out upon this infernal 
skepticism — faith alone is fruitful — alone leads to 
good works — the other is barren, dreary, deso- 
late, it benumbs our energies, contracts our hearts, 
is sure to make us cynics, may, before it has done 
with us, turn us into very sots. Yes, better far to 
gulp down all the legends of Rome, to swallow every 
suspicious miracle of the smallest saint in the Cal- 
endar, than to give way to this horrible spirit of 
unbelief And yet, how many around us seem to 
take a perverse pleasure in proclaiming their skep- 
ticism to the world, nay, declare aloud, that they 



MUSINGS OF AX INVALID. IGO 

can see no God in Heaven, no immortality in the 
soul. Poor wretches ! indeed, if they are in earnest, 
what can life be worth to them ? What dignity, 
what meaning can it have? Its dark side, its be- 
reavements, casualties, sufferings, what are they to 
them, but so many dismal scenes of some crushing 
merciless tragedy — and, at its best and brightest, 
with health and wealth, and everything to gratify 
the senses, still, what signifies it to men like these? — 
" a tale told by an idiot," a poor, vapid, pointless, 
tedious farce. 



And so that old hunks is out of the way 

at last — they buried the old miser yesterday — well, 
let him go, we are delighted to get rid of him ; 
meaner wTCtch was never put under ground. He 
died hard, they say — not at all strange, that — what 
debt did he ever pay, with a good grace ? Of course 
he would keep nature out of her dues as long as he 
could — for the same reason, the old scamp would 
never allow any flesh upon those sorry bones of his 
— he wished to cheat the worms out of their custom- 
ary meal — 'twas his way — he kept it up to the 
last — his very last words were an injunction that 



170 MUTTERINGS AND 

tliere should be no funeral. He was wise — who, 
under heaven, save hireings, would have gone to 
it ? The bare idea of acting as pall-bearer to such 
a wretch is loathsome ; mourning carriages for such 
a brute as he was? Why, he positively hadn't 
friends enough to fill a sulky — prayers, and sighs, 
and tears over Ms grave, indeed — precious croco- 
diles, who would let fall a drop for him — his very 
heirs couldn't squeeze out brine enough to take a 
mosquito off its feet; will the very grass conde- 
scend to grow over such a carcass ? Will any 
daisy or violet, think you, be found in its neigh- 
borhood? No, no — thorns, thistles, briers, nettles, 
they are the only proper embroidery for such a 
resting place as his. But am I not too severe upon 
him? Was there nothing good about the man? 
Nay, was there ever a wretch so vile and abject, 
that some few tributary tears could not be spared 
at his departure, some brief petition be put up in 
behalf of his poor, sinful soul ? What, not even 
his wife? Wife, say you? Poor thing, he sent 
her to her long home, years and years ago ; yes, 
teazed the very soul out of her, by his cursed 
meanness and neglect — the scoundrel — tears for Am, 
indeed — not a drop — not a drop. Let no dog dare 
whine for him, even ; there is no danger of ihat^ 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 171 

though, they knew him too well — catch them 
following such a fellow as he was; they took to 
their heels at the very sight of him. The brute 
has left nearly a million of dollars, they say, but no 
will ; no, he couldn't bring himself to that — the 
mere thought of formally abandoning possession 
of his pile, even to his children, was altogether in- 
tolerable to him. Well, the law will do them jus- 
tice ; poor fellows, they might have hanged, drown- 
ed or starved, or ever he would have given them a 
stiver, while living; and now, this sudden ava- 
lanche of riches comes rushing and tumbling in 
u[)on them, and will, no doubt, be the ruin of them. 
Oh, how they must honor the memory of such a 
father ! what an unspeakable treasure must a lock 
of his hair be to them, at this moment ! what a. 
pearl of great price, his autograph ! that veteran 
hat, too, those venerable boots, in which ho took 
his last airing, oh, what fond, precious memories 
come clustering round them, as they meet the gaze 
of these devoted sons ; I think I see them, now, 
scolding and scuffling for the possession of these 
priceless mementoes. Pah ! pah ! pah ! But why 
80 savage and bitter upon the poor wretch ? Is it 
Christianlikc, is it decent, now that he has gone 
to his dread account ? What an account — dreary, 



172 MUTTERINGS AND 

dreary record — not a bright spot in it — not one ray 
of sunshine — one long, dismal catalogue of petty 
meannesses and villanies — threescore years was he 
upon the earth, and in all that period, not one 
penny of his money, not one moment of his time, 
not one thought of his heart did he bestow upon 
any noble or deserving enterprise ; not a soli- 
tary tear of widow or of orphan did he dry ; not 
one poor beggar's heart did he ever make glad ; no, 
he lived and died for dollars, dollars, dollars. To 
see them multiply, and rise in glittering heaps 
around him, that was his delight, his alpha and 
omega, his be-all and his end-all. Dollars were at 
once wife, children, friends ; the gods of his idola- 
try ; with them, what cared he for kicks, or cuffs, or 
contumelies? without them, what was honor, fame, 
glory ? Poor, deluded man ; what magnificent things 
he might have done with his money ; what oppor- 
tunities he had of scattering blessings and comforts 
around him ; what precious seed he might have 
sown, that would have yielded glorious fruit hej-e- 
after ; what noble charities he might have founded ; 
how his name might have been blessed, in the long 
generations to come after him ; nay, had he even 
repented on his death-bed, had he apologized to the 
world for his past life, by his benefactions to coloni- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 173 

zation, or teraperauce, or any other noble cause, he 
might have been forgiven, and his memory respect- 
ed; but he would not — he even sneered at and 
laughed to scorn all such enterprises, and lo, the 
result : he dies despised, without friend or mourner ; 
dies like a dog in a ditch; his very children will 
hardly remember where his grave is, a twelvemonth 
hence. Well, is it not all fair? is it not of his own 
seeking? the man who lived such a life, deserved to 
die just such a death. What a career, to be sure ; 
how abject, how contemptible ; how utterly devoid, 
too, of all those decencies, refinements, amenities, 
that make existence palatable ! What cared he for 
company or amusements, the beauties of nature, the 
delights of art ? the very stars over his head, what 
were they to him, but so many doubloons, which 
he was mad that he could not clutch ? What were 
books, or pictures, or music to 1dm f He would as 
lief have seen a two-headed calf, as the glorious 
transfiguration itself — he'd have begrudged either 
sight the outlay of a copper. What to him the 
divine poetry of Shakspeare, the bewitching stories 
of Scott? one leaf of his filthy cash-book was 
dearer to him than them all — no, he would not have 
exchanged the smallest, raggedest bank-note, for all 
the Last Suppers and Auroras of Morghen. Tlia 



174 MUTTERINGS AND 

good book itself, what was it to sucli a close-fisted 
wretch as this ? — did I not absolutely hear him, on- 
onc occasion, in a commissioner's office, cursing it 
and consigning it to eternal flames, because, for- 
sooth, it had been the innocent means of flinging 
him, as he expressed it, out of a few shillings in the 
way of affidavits ? — the old scamp. The only enter- 
tainment he was ever known to partake of, was an 
occasional game of chequers — there was something, 
no doubt, in the low, tricky dexterity which this 
game calls out, that harmonized admirably with that 
sordid, over- reaching nature of his. What a life — 
what a soul to go through the world with ! Where 
is it now ? What is to become of it ? Some bitter 
punishment there must needs be in store for it — such 
deliberate, systematic, horrible perversion of the 
gift of existence cannot be passed over. But when 
will that punishment begin ? How long is it to last ? 
Is there any probation beyond the grave? or do we 
go straight from hence to retribution ? Fearfully 
interesting questions these — who can answer them ? 
— who can give us any comfortable light upon the 
matter ? Can it be, that the character we form 
here is to cling to us through all eternity? Is 
then this vile, sordid wretch, who was a perfect dis- 
grace and nuisance to th'3 world he lived in, to go 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 175 

on continually augmenting his vileness and ras- 
cality ? Is he, in every new world that he may be 
sent to, in every successive sphere of action, to keep 
up the same loathsome practices, to continue the 
same eye-sore and abomination to the universe, and 
to keep on in this way for ever, and ever, and ever ? 
— 'tis too horrible a doctrine to believe — or is he to 
be a sufferer only, shut up for ever in some dismal 
place of torment, there to lie, cursing and howling, 
howling and. cursing, world without end ? But can 
Ood be so cruel as that? Can any amount of 
earthly guilt earn eternal tortures ? Is it not wiser 
to suppose, that to every human soul, be it never 
so depraved and wretched, sooner or later, comes the 
glorious period of regeneration; that the meanest 
of earth's misers, the most beastly of its debauchees, 
the blackest of its murderers, has yet some little 
speck of white in him, some latent principle of good, 
that will finally be developed, ivill triumph in the 
end ? Fiery trials there must be, long and bitter 
suJBferings, before this blessed revolution in his 
nature comes to pass, but come it will, A new 
career will be opened to him, at last ; his faculties, 
purified and exalted, will all be employed in the 
service of heaven. Is this mere idle prattle ? Why, 
may not this very wretch, whom they hid in the 



176 MUTTERINGS AND 

earth yesterday, whom no man loved, who dis- 
figured every scene that he frequented, to get rid 
of whom seemed a positive blessing to his brethren, 
why may not even he, in God's infinite wisdom and 
goodness, yet be destined to become a glorious 
angel? Are there not, even now, bright seraphs 
round the throne, who once were just as abject, 
groveling earth-worms, degraded, desperate sin- 
ners ? Through what bitter discipline, through 
what terrible punishments, through what varieties 
of untried being, through what new scenes and 
changes they have passed, in the long flight of ages, 
ere they have reached this grand consummation, 
who, alas, can tell? — ^yet, who does not hope to 
know, to see these dread mysteries expounded, to 
see more and more of the workings of God's gov- 
ernment, to go on, hereafter, constantly gaining a 
more and more enlightened admiration of, constant- 
ly rendering a more and more intelhgent obedience 
to, the laws of the Great Father and Judge of all ? 
Why cannot I cherish and cling fast to this faith, 
this hope ? what is life worth without them ? This 
poor sinner, then, whom they consigned to the earth 
so ignominiously, surely there is yet some bright 
destiny in store for him — he is not to play this vile 
part for ever ; to be a perpetual instrument of mis- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. Ill 

chief; nor is he to howl for ever in some dark and 
dismal hell — else far, far better that that poor soul 
of his should rot and perish with its perishing body. 
And yet that thought is the most horrible of all — 
annihilation? oh, no, no — it may not, cannot be; 
nature rebels against it ; common sense belies it — • 
what, are the monuments we raise to men, to last 
for ages, and the men themselves, after a few short 
years of troubled life, to sink down into utter 
nothingness? Is the example of Washington a 
treasure that cannot perish, his memory to stand 
while stands the world, while he himself has be- 
come no more than a sorry handfull of worthless 
dust ? Beautiful, rational doctrine ! Is a breath of 
tainted air, or a stray bullet, or a falling brick, or 
some other agency as trivial, to consign to eternal 
slumber the mighty intellect of a Bacon, to drop 
the curtain for ever upon the glorious career of a 
Howard? Monstrous credulity, that can believe 
this — ^yet how many profess to believe it — speak to 
these same men, of Enoch walking with God, of 
Elijah borne to heaven by the whirlwind, or of the 
resurrection, and they will laugh in your face, and 
call them so many clumsy tales, contrived by priests 
— ^yet are they ready to swallow a doctrine like this, 
which, were it true, would turn life into the most 



178 MUTTERINGS AND 

paltry and wretched of mummeries, its best affec- 
tions, its highest aspirations, into mere themes of 
mockery and contempt. Yes, if these things be so, 
indeed, what a bitter mockery are our tears, and 
funeral rites, and monuments, and the flowers 
that deck the graves of those we love. Did, then, 
he who was lately taken, in the glorious morning 
of life, who had just buckled on his armor for 
the fight, to whom nature had been so bounteous, 
for whom education had done so much, did he all at 
once perish and wither away, and become of no more 
value than a noisome weed? Is this the end of all 
those gifts and acquirements ? — this the reply to all 
our hopes and prayers? Who dare talk about God's 
Wisdom and Goodness, then ? He is a savage, 
merciless tyrant, if this be so. Those dear babes, 
too, who were snatched away from us, sweet buds 
of love and promise, have they then utterly perish- 
ed ? Is there to be no blossoming for them, in some 
brighter world ? Are they of less account than the 
toys they played with, and which we treasure as 
memorials of them ? What absurd weakness, then, 
to weep over them, to dwell upon their little wi- 
ning ways and pretty words, to call in the artist's 
skill to revive their lovely faces. But why dwell 
longer on the matter? Who will so insult his 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 179 

heart and his understanding, as to entertain, for a 
moment, a doctrine so degrading, so crushing as 
this? 



I HAVE just read a letter from my dear old friend 
. How like him it is ! full of pleasant, amiable 



things — just like his face, all smiles and sunshine ; 
such a hand too, and for a man of fourscore — faii-, 
round, clear, as the heart of the writer ; every t 
crossed — not an i defrauded of its dot ; no para- 
lysis, there — no marks of hot haste, or of ill temjoer, 
in thai signature ; and then such charming senti- 
ments — so gracious, and candid, and sensible. And 
he talks in the same way — always cheerful — always 
a kind word for a friend — always ready to do jus- 
tice to both sides of a question, with a decided pre- 
ference for the bright side — as fair a listener, too, as 
he is talker — never disposed to take more than his 
la^vful share of the conversation ; to be sure, we 
are always delighted to have him run away with 
the whole of it — we are certain to get something 
worth carrying home, in the way of anecdote or 
sentiment, when he has the floor. Oh, what a 
treat it is to meet such a character — yes, it is really 



180 MUTTEEINGS AND 

cliarming, in tliis age of bigots, and ultraists, and 
hobbj-striders, to come across a man so wise and 
calm and tolerant and amiable — a man who can be 
judge, as well as advocate — wlio can bear his op- 
ponent witb patience and courtesy to tbe end — 
who is not mad with every one whom he cannot 
convert to his own views — who is willing to surren- 
der his opinions to superior arguments — who is not 
too proud to take advice — who can put his experi- 
ence to a good use — who can remember the mortifi- 
cations and defeats, as well as the triumphs of the 
past — who can look men and things full in the face 
— take a tranquil, philosophical survey of all the 
bearings of a question — a man, who, while alive to 
every generous impulse, and ready to do justice to 
everything truly meritorious, yet, will not be taken 
off his feet by every wild mad-cap scheme that turns 
up, will not surrender his heart and purse to every 
smooth-faced, smooth-spoken scoundrel that sees fit 
to echo his opinions — a man, who, while he hates 
slavery, still loves his country — who can see the 
difference between the orderly, judicious movements 
of colonizationists, and the outrageous, fatal schemes 
of abohtionists — who, while he has a horror of in- 
temperance, does not therefore see a nest of devils 
lurking in every glass of generous wine that comes 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID, 181 

along, nor will hesitate to take his one, two, or three 
of them, occasionally, with his dinner. Why should 
he ? What did the Lord send good wine for, but 
to warm just such noble old hearts as his ? Bless 
him — would there were more like him — the world 
would be far better worth living in. Why can't / 
take things as coolly ? Why can't I keep my tem- 
per as he does? What a vein of humor he has, 
too — what a store of anecdotes — all pleasant ones — 
nothing malicious about them — ^pretty pungent, too, 
some of them, but a wholesome bitter — nothing low 
or venomous in them — how he loves to go back to 
the old revolutionary times — the days of the Patres 
Conscripti. He could talk all day with you about 
Franklin and Adams and Jefferson and Jay and 
Sherman and the rest of them ; his proudest recol- 
lection, though, is having been patted on the head, 
when he was a youngster, by the great Pater Patriae 
himself — he has felt better for it, he says, ever since 
— the thought of it has kept him out of many a 
scrape — no doubt of it — surely, there must have 
been magic in such a benediction — indeed, there 
are few greater treats than to hear him on these 
themes, when he gets once fairly warmed up — ^how 
his eye lights up — ^how he brings out those fine 
deep notes of his — the effect is truly dramatic — the 



182 MUTTERINGS AND 

figures seem ready to start from the canvass — no 
professed story-teller on the quay of Naples could 
be more animated. Wouldn't Matthews have re- 
lished him? — how much he would have got out of 
him, too — Shakspeare would have given him a post 
of honor, in some play or other, had he been a 
neighbor. But hasn't he done it, already ? To be 
sure he has — old Gronzalo, in the Tempest — yes, the 
very man, the same chatty, cheerful, philosophical 

old gentleman, to a hair — had ■ been in that 

gale, he'd have behaved just as the honest Counsel- 
lor did, keeping up his good humor to the last — 
looking out for the best — comforting those about 
him — yes, prattling away in the same half-playful, 
half-serious strain, so long as he could keep his 
head above water. Bless his old soul ! — the idea of 
his ever being cursed, by God or man, is too mon- 
strous — the idea of his being consigned to a place 
of torment — he in hell ? A pretty figure he'd cut 
there, to be sure. Falstaff would not look more 
out of place, in a pulpit — Hamlet, on an omnibus- 
box ; the sweet Ophelia herself, on a treadmill — oh 
no — besides, Satan knows his own interests too well 
for that ; such a spirit would work a dangerous 
revolution in his dominions — it would be making 
the realms of wo altogether too cheerful and 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 183 

agreeable, if such customers were admitted — no — 
far different quarters will be assigned /urn, in spirit 
land. And is he, indeed, so excellent a man ? 
Does his character justify such enthusiasm ? Isn't 
this amiability, after all, the result of temperament, 
rather than of self-government? Besides, hasn't 
he had things pretty much his own way, all his 
life ? Hasn't his voyage been a smooth and delight- 
ful one, from the very start ? No, no, no — far from 
it — he has had his full share of squalls and storms 
— his full allowance of losses and bereavements — 
grievous and bitter ones, too — no man, indeed, has 
had more to test his temper, and thoroughly search 
his heart — and how triumphantly has he come out 
of his trials — how nobly has he borne his losses ! It 
is not many years since he had to part with his wife 
— such a wife as she was — no lovelier woman ever 
brightened a home — he knew her — he appreciated 
her. Brutus was not j)rouder of his Portia — what 
a happy time they had together — but she shortened 
her life, good woman — yes, she overworked her- 
self — wore herself out long before her time — it was 
her way — she could not rest easy, while there was 
anybody about her uncomfortable — night and day, 
day and night, she was eternally contriving and 
toiling, for the gratification of lier family, and the 



184 MUTTERINGS AND 

families of her cMldren. But slie is gone, and if 
tliere is any one part of paradise brighter and 
sweeter than the rest, she is there — ^here was a 
blow for a man to stagger under. And then his 
children — are they not nearly all dead ? Fine, 
promising sons, and lovely daughters, has he not 
consigned them, one after another, to the grave? 
How he loved them — how they loved and hon- 
ored him ! It was delightful to see such inter- 
course — so frank, so cordial. "VWiat a fireside 
it made, to be sure. Ah, his loas a home. How 
many places are there, that we call homes, that are 
utterly without claim to that dear title ; whose in- 
mates might as well be in so many different planets, 
so far as any union of souls is concerned; who, 
when they meet at meals, are as stiff and formal 
and silent as so many strangers at a table d'hote ; 
whose parlors are cheerless, joyless, funless — chillier 
than so many ice-houses, dismaller than so many 
vaults. Who are these mute, anxious-looking, self- 
absorbed creatures, scattered about in them ? Call 
you this a gathering of loving kindred ? — say rather, 
a group of animated grave-stones — a precious family 
circle, truly. How many homes, too, are there far 
worse than this — to which the very caves of her- 
mits, the very dens of robbers are comparatively 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 185 

cheerful, desirable places — in which naught is ever 
seen but scowls and scornful looks and angry ges- 
tures ; nothing ever heard but taunts and sneers and 
curses — there is no lack of them in this huge town 
of ours ; even in its best and fairest quarters, are 
they not to be found ? — and in the others, are there 
not whole streets full of them ? Horrible holes ! — 
as Ave go by them we prick np our ears involunta- 
rily; we are almost disappointed at not hearing- 
pistol shots and shrieks and cries of murder — what 
volle3's of oaths, what torrents of filth are perpetu- 
ally circulating through vast neighborhoods of this 
description ! Oh, when one thinks of such evil 
haunts as these, and then of such a serene, sun- 
shiny, charming home as once had, is it not 

enough to overwhelm one ? What can these fright- 
ful contrasts mean — ^these mysterious arrangements 
of Providence ? But that dear home was soon broken 
up — Death came and stole away its jewels ; credit- 
ors came, too, and besieged it and laid it waste. 
He was a rich man once — what a house he kept, 
then ; how like a prince he lived ; what charming 
people he gathered round him. It's all over now — 
poor man, his means are of the slenderest ; he has 
barely saved enough from the wreols tp enable him 
to scratch along for the few remaining years of his 



186 MUTTERINGS AJSTD 

pilgrimage ; and yet how bright he keeps, and ami- 
able—he has always a kind greeting ready, a pleas- 
ant joke to spare ; no millionaire in town wears half 
so contented a face ; it does you good to look at it ; 
such sensibility, such intelligence, such a smile, 
too — not the unmeaning smile of your mere day- 
dreamer, your man of abstractions, who is so ab- 
sorbed in his own schemes and visions, that he can 
find no time or thought for the joys or sorrows of 
those about him ; still less, is it the vacant grin 
which bespeaks a stupid, stagnant nature, through 
whose brain the blood scarce flows, whose heart has 
not substance enough to it for any passion to take 
hold of — oh no — but an honest, cordial, delightful 
expression, which captivates you at once*, which 
tells you, most distinctly, that its owner is happy 
himself, and does all he can to make others so — and 
so he does, and always has — has he not, indeed, 
acquitted himself most handsomely, alike as a gen- 
tleman, a philosopher, and a Christian? To be 
sure, he has made no distinct profession of Reli- 
gion; he seems to be mightily indifferent about 
sects and creeds and ceremonies — too much so, per- 
haps. I heard him say, indeed, once, that he did 
not care the toss of a copper whether his faith had 
thirty-nine articles in it or thirty riiii^e liundred, and 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 187 

that it did not make a straw's difference to him, 
whether the minister ofliciatcd in a surplice or a 
roundabout, so long as his heart was in the matter — 
he has a frank, incautious way of expressing him- 
self on these subjects, which of course exposes him 
to misrepresentation. How many precisians are 
there, who would have rolled up their eyes in pious 
horror at this very speech, who,' so far as the essen- 
tials of goodness are concerned, are not even worthy 
to black his boots ! For, though thus negligent 
about the mere forms of Christianity, has he not, 
all his life long, been faithfully practising its vir- 
tues ? Has he not been conferring benefits, forgiv- 
ing injuries, bridling his tongue, subduing his appe- 
tites, drying ten thousand tears for every one that 
he has caused to flow ? Who dare say, then, that 
he is not a good Christian ? Pooi- man, did I call 
him just now ? — what a mistake — he poor, indeed, 
who has life's two most precious treasures — a good 
temper, an approving conscience. Oh what charm- 
ing property to hold, and to cling fast to, and to 
carry out of the world with us ! what a sure pass- 
port, too, for the great journey ahead! — -thus equip- 
ped, thus accredited, who shall molest us, who shall 
not give us a courteous reception ? In what part of 
creation mav not mv dear friend feel safe? Y/Iicto 



188 MUTTERINGS AND 

not hold up his head in modest confidence ? Well, 
he'll soon have to leave us — soon be among the 
angels ; and yet I don't see why he shouldn't stay 
with us some ten or fifteen years longer. I hope 
so ; I can't bear to think of losing sight of his cheer- 
ful face, of getting no more of his pleasant hand- 
writing. And why may I not hope to meet him 
hereafter, and hear him, in some brighter world, 
talk over his earthly experience in the same agree- 
able strain in which he chats about old times here ? 
I do hope so ; to meet him and all other dear friends 
and kindred, ay, all the choice spirits that have 
ever been upon the earth ; without such hope, what 
an intolerable burthen life would become — mean- 
while, I am for making the most of the old gentle- 
man, here below ; I am for keeping him to the very 
last moment; I want to have a good many pleasant 
dishes of chat with him, after the old sort ; I want 
to get a good many more of his charming, heart- 
cheering epistles. 



Heigh ho — what a poor devil I seem to be this 
fine morning ! And 1 had begun to think that I 
was getting better and heartier ; but no, 'tis the 



MUSINGS OF AX INVALID. 189 

same old story over again. Well, I deserve it ; I 
have disobeyed the doctor's injunctions ; have been 
using my head and neglecting my heels, and I have 
got to pay for it ; yes, this is pay-day. Doesn't this 
hot, throbbing brain tell me so, plain enough ? these 
dim, heavy eyes, these relaxed muscles about my 
mouth, this dry skin ? Oh, how restless and nerv- 
ous I feel ! — so irritable, too ; couldn't I fire off a 
volley of oaths, now, that would put the profanest 
postilion in France to the blush, that would make 
the most voluble vetturino in Italy whistle in his 
amazement? What disagreeable things and per- 
sons keep coming into my mind continually ! I 
was even now having a half dozen visionary bouts at 
fisticuffs all at once, with as many rascally acquaint- 
ances. Didn't I see them afterwards, too, all group- 
ed on the boiler-deck of a Mississippi steamboat, 
the captain drunk, the engineer asleep, the boat 
driving along at a furious rate — crack, crack, crack 
went the boilers, and these same fellows were all 
blown into the air, and down they came again with 
a splash into the water ; poor, scalded, mangled, 
slaughtered wretches ; surely, my heart bled for 
them ? not a bit of it, not a bit of it ; I was tickled, 
positively tickled at the sight ; I all but gave three 
cheers; had Beelzebub himself been by, I could 



190 MUTTEKINGS AND 

have shaken hands and exchanged congratulations 
with him on the occasion. For shame, man, for 
shame ! how can I give way to these diabolical feel- 
ings ? — and there is that blessed Bible, too, all this 
time, lying on my table ; how dare I look it in the 
face ? And is this the frame of mind for a Chris- 
tian to be in ? this the course of conduct prescribed 
in the Sermon on the Mount ? I'll read a chapter ; 
it may do me some good, perhaps ; may bring me 
back to reason. Ah, I have opened on the very 
sermon itself — ''And seeing the multitudes, he 
went up into a mountain ; and when he was set, his 
disciples came unto him. And he opened his mouth, 

and taught them, saying. Blessed are the " but 

no, no, no ; let me not insult these divine beati- 
tudes ; let me not profane them with my lips, feel- 
ing, as I do, my heart to be all full of gall and bit- 
ness. Oh no ; railings and cursings are far more in 
keeping with my temper — 

"Lay on, Macduff, 
And damned be he who first cries hold, enough." 

that^s the way I feel — that I can comprehend and 
sympathize with — yes, I can relish the tremendous 
emphasis which the frenzied, desperate Macbeth 
lays on that word, damned. But those sublime 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 191 

benedictions, alas, I feel them not — I understand 
them not — Lear cursing his daughters, Timon hurl- 
ing his imprecations upon Athens, Othello sum- 
moning black vengeance from her hollow cell, these 
things I can enjoy, can dwell upon them with 
i-avage pleasure — wasn't I repeating the last of 
those passages to myself, this very minute, with 
wicked glee ? 

" Yield up, O Love, thy crown and hearted throne 
To tyrannous hate — swell, bosom, with thy frau^t, 
For 'tis of aspics' tongues — " 

Ugh, how fine that last line is — I think I hear the 
hissing of ten thousand hellish snakes in it. Fie, 
fie, fie, why loill I cherish these angry j^assions ? 
let me be patient. It is hard, though, that I should 
be treated in this way — ^that I cannot be allowed to 
take a little mental food occasionally — that I may 
not, once in a while, treat the immortal part of me, 
without my body's kicking up this infernal row and 
uproar about it, reminding me perpetually of the 
vile bondage to which I am subjected. Don't tell 
me that life is worth having on such terms as these 
— so far from its being a boon, I call it a downright 
dose. Confound it I I am cheated both ways — I am 
defrauded alike of the rational enjoyments of the 



192 MUTTERINGS AND 

man, and of tlie sensual gratifications, the liigh 
health of the beast. I wish, oftentimes, in the bit- 
terness of my heart, that I had been a quadruped — 
why wasn't I a Polar bear, for instance ? I should 
have got far more out of life — what strength, what 
an appetite, yes, what glorious endowments of wind, 
-limb, and stomach, would have been my portion — 
I could have run my hundred miles a day, and 
swam my fifty — what hearty hugs, what stirring 
fights I should have had — ^what magnificent meals 
of fish, and seals, and young whales in their season, 
with every now and then a brace or two of Green- 
land babies, by way of change — what long cozy 
naps, too, free from nightmares, all through the 
winter — what charming summer excursions on the 
ice — wouldn't it have been delightful? — such a 
pleasant circle of enjoyments, such an unfailing 
round of excitements. Oh, would not such a career 
as this have been quite as satisfactory to myself, as 
acceptable to the Creator, as the tame, paltry, good- 
for-nothing kind of life that I am now leading? 
Ah, well — submit — submit — submit — ^this sneering 
and grumbling will not mend the matter ; 'tis so 
written ; 'tis decreed that I must go through the 
world, a poor cripple, an ignoramus, a nobody — I 
must descend, a very numskull, to my grave — the 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 193 

golden gates of knowledge are barred against me — 
the avenues of ambition, business, philanthropy, I 
may not explore them — the flowery paths of plea- 
sure, they, too, are not for me ; they are reserved for 
stronger heads and nerves than mine. Well, most 
people Avould say, perhaps, or at least their actions 
say for them, that this last is, after all, the only loss 
worth grumbling about — the idea of fretting over 
the want of learning, reputation, fame, and such like 
windy humbugs, why how silly — why shouldn't 1 
get along without them, as well as nine hundred and 
ninety-nine thousandths of my brethren ? how un- 
reasonable — they don't take on so — no, indeed — they 
are perfectly satisfied with the arrangement — what 
care they, forsooth, whether or not their brains be 
lined with knowledge, so long as their stomachs are 
stuffed with good cheer, their purses with hard dol- 
lars ? What care they for the " all hail hereafter," 
so long as the ignorant present is a comfortable, 
jolly one? — that's their view of the matter — so they 
talk, and so they live, and eat, and drink, and sleep, 
and die, and crumble into dust, and their tombstones 
crumble after them, and it is as if they had never 
been. Their names may occasionally linger on the 
earth awhile, after their owners are gone, i. e., in 
directories, account books, legal advertisements, and 
9 



194 MUTTERINGS AND 

sucli like precious documents — or on old door-plates 
or umbrella handles — their faces may survive awhile 
in atrocious portraits — but these mementoes are 
soon Licked out of the way, and it is all over with 
them — so far as posterity are concerned, such fel- 
lows are of no more account than the very flies 
that bit them, the very hogs that they devoured, 
when living. •' Well," says one of them, perhaps, 
in reply, " well, be it so, what care we? posterity be 
hanged — are the learned, and powerful, and famous 
of the earth any better off, in the long run ? are 
they any happier in their day and generation ? 
This fame, that you keep talking about, is pretty 
poor pay, after all — a pretty shabby return for all 
the sleepless nights, and anxious days, and aching 
brains it costs — what difference is it going to make 
to a poor fellow, whether posterity gets wind of 
him, or no ? whether a frail cross of wood is stuck 
up over his last resting place, or a huge pile of 
marble, carved all over with extravagant allegories 
and pompous lies in Latin ? My next door neighbor 
is a famous man — no doubt he will be remembered, 
and his books be read with pleasure, a thousand 
years hence, while / shall be forgotten the very 
moment that my debts are paid and my estate set- 
tled — but what folly to worry and get mad about 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 195 

it — meanwhile, am I not having tenfold more fun 
and pleasure than he ever dreamt of, for all his 
noddlefuU of knowledge ? Let him bend over his 
musty books, then, for all me — let him scribble 
away, for the benefit of an ungrateful posterity. 
Give me a jolly time of it with my contemporaries — 
secure me that, and posterity and ancestry both be 
hanged, for aught I care." Well, the man's honest — 
he avows, openly, what the great mass of us do, in 
our actions — and yet, what sentiments ! — how flip- 
pant, how reckless, how utterly unsound ! — what, do 
you mean, then, deliberately to say, that the plea- 
sures of the senses, the short-lived enjoyments that 
the bottle, and the harlot, and the dice-box can give 
a man, are the only part of life worth having ? and 
do you dismiss, with a sneer of contempt, the pure, 
deep, inexhaustible delights of the student ? You 
epicures and profligates, then, are the only fellows 
that are on the right track, that are getting anything 
for your money, and the scholar is wrong, altogether 
wrong in the matter? Yes, a poor, self-deceiving, 
self-defrauding visionary and shadow-chaser — you 
hardly know whether to pity, or to laugh at, his 
absurd infatuation. Oh, out upon such unblushing 
impudence, such rascally views of life as these ! we 
are not to be fooled by them any longer — ^you may 



196 MUTTERINGS AND 

try, indeed, to make them pass current with us; 
you may dress tliem up in all the wit of a Congreve 
or a Sheridan ; you may enshrine them inverse more 
musical than that of Horace or of Herrick ; you may 
wed them to strains more delicious than ever haunt- 
ed the brain of a Eossini ; you may get ruby li^JS 
to plead for them, and sparkling eyes to smile upon 
them, yet we will not be deceived — fascinated, per- 
haps, we may be, ensnared for a season, but our 
eyes will be opened at last, to their native hideous- 
ness — no, we are not going to surrender our free- 
dom always, to sell ourselves to ruin and despair for 
such abominable follies as these. Silence, then, ye 
profane sensualists ! we will listen no longer to your 
miserable sophistries — and as for your flippant 
sneers and pity, the scholar flings them back in 
scorn — ^it enters not into your shallow hearts to 
conceive of the depth, the fervor, the intensity of 
his pleasures — there is some excuse for his excesses, 
something honorable in his servitude — yours is an 
ignominious, beastly slavery. Pretty fellows, to 
talk about infatuation — it is a mighty easy and con- 
venient thing, too, for you epicures to cry down 
fame, and the love of it, and to say that it is of no 
value to a man after death — but what do you know 
about the matter ? — for aught you know, the soul 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 197 

of Shakspeare may be musing, this very moment, 
in pleasant vein, on the mighty power which his 
works are exerting on human hearts, and which 
every hour is extending and deepening — for aught 
you know, his plays are already performed, (ay, and 
altogether finer ones than he wrote on earth) in half 
the planets of the universe — such audiences, too, as 
ho has had — Ilomer has heard them, and Virgil, and 
Dante, and Tasso, all his glorious brother bards of 
olden times — for aught you can say to the contrary, 
all these gifted, blessed spirits may, even now, 
be holding sweet converse together. Of course, you 
will sneer at all this, and reply, fudge ! humbug ! 
silly dreams ! — be it so ; I believe in such dreams my- 
self — I believe they do a man good, keep him out 
of mischief, keep alive a holy enthusiasm in his 
heart, inspire him with a lofty ambition, put a new 
meaning and beauty into all the scenes of earth, all 
the phenomena of life — your sensual, skeptical no- 
tions are fatal to all that is good, venerable, lovely. 
Precious fellows, you^ to sneer at musty books, as 
you call them — why, what would have become of 
the world without them ? — a world without any his- 
tory or poetry in it? — a pretty place to be sure. But 
why waste one's breath, arguing such a point? you 
are not in earnest, in avowing such abominable sen- 



198 MUTTERINGS AND 

timents — you know well enough, that if they were 
faithfully carried out, 'men would, ere the next genera- 
tion had fairly got its growth, become so many filthy 
swine, this beautiful earth a vile pen — oh, no, 'tis 
mere reckless, desperate talk— " wild, whirling" 
words with which you would fain drown the voice 
of conscience. If you would but listen to that voice, 
would act up to your real convictions in the matter, 
if you had the courage to throw your bottles to the 
dogs, and to take to your books, forthwith, and in 
right earnest, what a glorious revolution we should 
have of it, what a delightful world we should have 
to live in. But when have men ever had that 
courage ? Have not flesh and sense had it pretty 
much their own way always ? Has not appetite 
carried the day against reason from the very start? 
Did not Noah himself, whom God took so much 
pains to save — did not even Ae, ere the earth was 
fairly dry, most shamefully forget himself, most in- 
gloriously fall before the fascinations of the wine 
cup ? Have not his descendants, from that day to 
this, hailed with frantic delight everything that had 
intoxication in it, everything that could help them 
run away from their consciences and their duties ? 
Did they not greet with wild enthusiasm the fatal, 
accursed tobacco, enemy of the race? — did it not 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. It)!) 

take like wildfire, circulating with incredible swift 
iiess all over the planet, while the poor, innocent 
potato, man's true friend and nourisher, was over- 
looked or despised, and only after long years of 
struggle, found its true place, and was duly recog- 
nized amongst the choice gifts of heaven? And 
have we not always been just such fools in our 
selections? always hugging the poisons to our 
bosoms, and turning our backs upon the wholesome 
pleasures of life? evermore crucifying our bene- 
factors, throwing stones at those who have come to 
us with words of wisdom and of warning, while 
we have been prompt to greet Avith acclamations, to 
load with honors, any wretch that would cater to 
our appetites, that would enlarge the circle of our 
indulgences? And would you wilfully foster and de- 
velop these sensual, devilish propensities of our 
nature ? Would you consummate matters by taking 
away our books and oar meditations ? Are we not 
sufficiently bestial already ? With all the counter- 
acting, elevating influences of religion, and science, 
and art, and sentiment, are not the great majority 
of us, now, little better than so many cattle, roam- 
ing about with our heads to the ground, with no 
eyes save for the garbage under our noses ? But 
enough of this — this may be a true picture of human 



200 MUTTERINGS AND 

nature— it certainly is a sufficiently gloomy, per- 
haps bitter one. Oh, Lord, I ought not to be sitting 
here, giving way to such meditations — poor medi- 
cine, truly, for aching heads and teasing nerves — 
far better to be up and stirring — well, well, well, 
well, well, here comes my gruel — let's have it — if it 
does me no good, it will at least stop for a while 
this fretting, grumbling mouth of mine. 



Another paltry, paltry day — no pleasure or pro- 
fit have I got out of it — no, not a single agreeable 
sensation, not a new idea, not a solitary glimpse of 
any truth worth knowing, not a moment's pleasant 
chat with a friend, have I had, but a peevish, soli- 
tary, contemptible time of it. Well, 'tis no novelty, 
I have had a great many such rascally days in my 
allowance — why, heaven only knows — I certainly 
have not earned them — I have committed no ex- 
cesses, mental or bodily, that I know of — my parents 
are not to blame in the matter, either — their consti- 
tutions are, and ever have been, excellent — still less 
can I lay these cursed sensations to my grand- 
parents, for four haler, healthier, worthier people, 
never went through their threescore years and ten, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID, 201 

God bless them — no, I am in, neither by descent 
nor purchase, as the lawyers have it — a queer title, 
to be sure — well, nobody will dispute it. Ah, dear 
me, what a humbug of a life — I have been turning 
over some fifty books, at least, this morning, from the 
Holy Bible down to Kicklebungs on the Rhine, 
and not one of them can I get interested in — even 

's frothy, windy editorials are too deep for 

me — what a precious condition my immortal soul 
is getting into — what an ignorant imbecile I am fast 
becoming — were I to die to-morrow, what a shabby 
figure I should cut in the next world — what could 
I tell them about the place I came from? — a stupid 
traveller, indeed — my company wouldn't pay at all 
— they wouldn't be civil to me — the very angels 
would give me the cold wing — I should make as 
sorry an exhibition of myself as my countrymen 
too often do abroad, when over-persiiaded by their 
better halves, in the evening of life, to take a peep 
at the antique portions of the planet. Some fine 
summer day, at some Swiss or Rhenish table d'hote, 
one of these worthy men finds himself suddenly 
confronted with an intelligent foreigner, who, ad- 
dressing him very politely in French or German, 
begs him to favor him with some few explanations 
on certain difficult, abstruse points, connected with 
9* 



202 MUTTERINGS AND 

that beautiful but complicated structure, tlie Consti- 
tution of the United States. What a situation for 
our friend; he is just about as competent to the 
task as a youthful negro, kicking up his heels, in 
naturalibus, in the streets of Congo or Loango, 
would be competent to furnish an elaborate de- 
scription of the steam engine — poor fellow, what 
should he know about the matter ? has he not been 
toiling like a gallej-slave all his days; working, 
working, working, night and day, day and night, 
up to his very eyelids, in soap, or lard, or rum, or 
sugar ? his only approach to anything like literature, 
being a hasty perusal of the morning papers? what, 
the old Harry, does he know about the scenery, his- 
tory, government of his country ? why, to give any 
clear answers to the questions proposed, even in his 
vernacular, would be a terrible undertaking for him ; 
but as to airing his views on these points, in any 
other language, the bare idea of the thing would 
make any acquaintance of his whistle. Unfortunate 
man ! how gladly would he exchange the sublime 
scenery around him, for a snug berth in Simms' 
hole; how willingly he would make for the anti- 
podes, cheerfully taking all risks of central heat, en 
route ; — how he stammers, blushes, stutters, mutters, 
and, finally, with a convulsive pantomimic move- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 20^ 

ment, refers the stranger to his wife, who, somehow 
or other, contrives to get him out of the scrape in 
what 5^^, doubtless, considers good French. Just 
such a shabby, sheepish, pitiful figure should I cut 
in the other world — what information worth having, 
could I give them about this earth of ours? — what 
know I of its scenerj, antiquities, history, laws, man- 
ners, usages ? of its trees, flowers, fruits, rocks, mine- 
rals, water-courses, birds, beasts, fishes? why, the 
humblest science in the circle, the meanest art on the 
list, what sort of an examination could I stand 
ujDon it ? Yes, I shall go out of the world, with 
no more adequate, intelligent notion of its con- 
tents, than a traveller would have of the con- 
tents of St. Peters, or of the Louvre, from a 
single, hurried, teazing, bewildering visit. Well — 
so it is — most true, and most infernally morti- 
fying. But suppose it had been otherAvise — sup- 
pose I had had Methusaleh's lease of life, and a 
glorious constitution into the bargain — suppose I 
had studied faithfully, all that time, making due 
allowances for all bodily requirements, and had 
kept my health and faculties sound, through it all 
— should I not still have died, a comparative igno- 
ramus ? Should I not still have been a mere peb- 
ble-gatherer, on the great sea-shore of Truth ? Nay, 



204 MUTTERINGS AND 

had I exhausted all the learning that Earth had to 
offer, in each department, still what a mere mite 
would it all amount to, in the great sum of truth 
stored up in this vast Universe — why grumble 
then, about my ignorance? why not take a philo- 
sophical view of the matter, and be resigned? 
What a strange arrangement, by the way, it seems 
in our poor eyes, that all these long lives should 
have come off, at a period when the world was 
least interesting. Now^ a man might manage to 
find employment for his ten centuries, but how un- 
der heaven Methusaleh got through with them, is 
a puzzler, indeed. Travelling, say you ? why, what 
was there to see, but the face of Nature? fine 
mountain scenery, to be sure, grand sea views, 
charming pastoral landscapes — but one soon gets 
tired of mere Nature. Art must come in, after all, 
to make the thing really interesting. Where were 
their cities ? Small, scanty, unentertaining ones, 
doubtless — their roads, narrow, rough, tedious. 
How did they get along without steamboats and 
railroads, and telegraphs ? no penny press, then — 
no cheap publications — no theatres, operas, ballets 
• — no world's fairs and crystal palaces — little or 
nothing in the way of manufactures, commerce in 
its cradle, navigation of the most timid, creeping 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 205 

kind — why, what was there ou earth to live for ? 
That, one would have said, would have been the 
time, of all others, to have put men on the short 
allowance of threescore and ten — now, when the 
world is so crowded with objects of interest of all 
sorts, we might easily use up fivefold that amount, 
with pleasure and advantage. Is it slanderous to 
suggest that these dear old " earliest inhabitants" 
of the planet must have been far less witty, bril- 
liant, and intellectual than their short-lived descend- 
ants ? exemplary as many of them were, were they 
not somewhat stupid withal 7 It is melancholy to 
think how much of their time must have been 
spent in dozing, how much in whittling, how much 
in mere twiddling of their thumbs — and oh, how 
did they manage for Tobacco ? the idea of ten cen- 
turies of earth, and no pipe to smoke, is too painful 
to dwell upon. But what stuff is this I am talk- 
ing ? whither is my whimsical, profane fancy lead- 
ing me ? Well, it took me away from myself, any 
how — yes, I had positively forgotten, for a moment, 
what a poor, rickety wretch I was. But the reac- 
tion is at hand — oh, it is returning with a ven- 
geance — that's right — throb, throb, throb away, hot, 
rascally head — why not split open at once, and have 
the job over — my feet, all this while, are as numb 



206 MUTTERINGS AND 

and dead as a bailiff's conscience. Come, don^t sit 
liere any longer — up, fly about, set your old carcass 
in motion. What sball I do, where shall I go ? ah, 
a thought strikes me — ^yes, I will rush straightway 
into the streets, and pull the very first nose that I 
encounter — ^no matter who may be its wearer — be 
he saint, savage, or sage, kinsman or stranger, citi- 
zen or alien — ^well, what then? why, of course, 
there will be a huge surprise — there will be objur- 
gations, cursings, and collarings, a fight — I shall 
be thrashed, no doubt, heartily, gloriously thrashed, 
most righteously, too. Well, while it will not fail 
to amuse and edify the neighbors and bystanders, 
why might it not also be of service to me ? a service- 
able counter-irritant ? it will soon bring this vile 
blood to the surface, I warrant me. Why not be 
peppered and bruised in that way, as well as be 
locked up between two rascally mustard plasters ? 
'tis only a shorter cut to the desired result. Yes, I 
verily believe that a pair of black eyes would be the 
very best thing in the world for me — to be sure, 
there is nothing cheerful or dignified about them — 
but what of that ? anything, anything for relief — 
but suppose I should happen to stumble on Hyer 
— ^lie'd soon make an end of me — one blow of his 
ponderous fist would send me whirling into king- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 207 

(1 rn co;no, in a twinkling — that tvould be a pleas- 
ant, creditable departure from this busy scene, 
wouldn't it ? no, no, no — I had much better make 
for bed — but I can't sleep — I shall only kick, and 
toss, and scold, and make a fool of myself — oh, that 
I could sleep — oh, for a long, long sleep, sweeter 
than the prattle of Rosalind, deeper than the wis- 
dom of Solomon — no, I may not have it — no such 
boon for me — ^that infernal scoundrel that went by 
just now, that grinning swindler, whose conscience 
ought to be kicking and pricking him continually, 
he'll sleep to night as sound as a roach, and I shall 
not close my eyes. I have a great mind to get 
drunk — no, I won't — that would a poor business, a 
wretched business. I should be a frightful loser 
by any such transaction — ^for every hour of feverish 
slumber, should I not have to pay at least four of 
cursed torment ? My neighbor is more fortu- 
nate — he can turn his stomach into a demijohn, 
every night, with impunity — ^mine is a very differ- 
ent affair, a perfect sensitive plant, and be hanged 
to it — would I were well rid of it, and of all the 
rest of this confounded take-in of a body of mine— > 
my soul is tired of such shabby lodgings — let her 
go, then ; and as for this old nuisance of a body, 
away with it — toss it into the sea, chuck it into 



208 MUTTERINGS AND 

Vesuvius, sell it to the doctors, or hand it over to 
the worms — who cares ? Heigh-ho ! what a life — 
what a life — what a life ! 



Still in the grumbling vein — still mourning- 
over the loss of my studies, and my pleasures — my 
moral delinquencies and short-comings, somehow 
or other, don't seem to worry me so much, I take 
them quite coolly, I can hanker after the dainties 
of the epicure, the laurels of the scholar — I can get 
mad, because I may not extort the applauses, sway 
the hearts of my brethren, and, all this while, the 
great, the glorious, the only object in life worth 
living for, is within my grasp, and I do not even 
lift a finger towards securing it — true, I may not 
be vigorous, or rich, or powerful, or renowned — 
but oh, may I not be, if I will, kind, and forbear- 
ing, and forgiving, and charitable ? I cannot take 
towns, or conquer languages, but I can subjugate 
this vile temper, can overthrow these villanous 
passions of mine. Yes, I have but to say the word, 
and I can win victories, and wear crowns, to which 
all the triumphs of Napoleon, all the diadems of 
Europe, are lustreless and valueless. But I will not 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 209 

— ^it looks as if I never would — and so I shall go 
to my grave, not merely an invalid, and an igno- 
ramus, but a poor, miserable sinner besides — fool, 
fool that I am. And yet, is your mere goodness 
worth having, after all ? What signifies a kind 
heart, unaccompanied by any vigor of body or 
mind? praiseworthy intentions, with neither health, 
wealth, nor talent, to aid and abet them, and bring 
them to any practical account ? who wants to be 
an amiable nobody? an exemplary cipher? to have 
a character so intrinsically feeble and insignificant, 
that it is of no manner of consequence to the world, 
whether it be in repair or in decay, in cloud or in 
sunshine. Such a spectacle, is it not almost as me'- 
ancholy as to behold brilliant talents enlisted in the 
service of vice? nay, far more so ; for there is always 
some hope of reclaiming the one, but what under 
Heaven can ever be made out of the other? — a good- 
natured imbecile, forsooth. If that's the part I have 
got to play all my life, I'd rather leave the stage at 
once ; to be a poor, silly cripple, indeed ; not worth 
the crutches that hold me up ; too feeble to defend 
myself; too stupid to contribute one solitary item to 
the comfort or happiness of those about me ; a mere 
cumberer of the earth ; can it be that I am fast get- 
ting into tliat condition ? if so, let me die, die, die, 



210 MUTTERINGS AND 

fortliwitli and have done with it. I ask again, what 
is mere kindliness of disposition worth, unless it be 
allied with quick wits, sound nerves, untiring ener- 
gies ? then I can do something with it ; can bring it 
to market ; can make it serviceable to my brethren 
and myself — on such terms, the game of life is worth 
playing ; the voyage worth pursuing ; otherwise I 
am for making for the very first port. But is this 
a sound view of the matter ? Is it not, rather, the 
language of an impatient, rebellious spirit? Be- 
sides, can there be any goodness, without intelli- 
gence ? — how unreasonable, how absurd to talk in 
this style ; mere goodness, forsooth ? why, what does 
the very idea imply, but quick perceptions, warm 
passions, a hard struggle, a glorious victory? 
What has imbecility to do with it? — 'tis an abuse 
of language to associate them — and as to poverty 
and sickness, do you mean to say that the^^ take 
from the dignity and value of virtue ? — charming 
doctrine, to be sure. What, the very things of all 
others, that most show off its lustre, its divine 
beauty and preciousness ? No, no ; 'tis mere false 
pride, and sickly ambition that make me feel and 
talk thus. This is not the language of the beati- 
tudes ; this is not the Christian's view of life ; these 
obscure, passive virtues, that I neglect, nay, shrink 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 211 

from, why they arc the very ones that Christianity 
most exalts, most insists upon ; 'tis they that form the 
crowning glory of the character of its Founder; sneer 
not at them, then, as only fit for cell and cloister, 
and the chamber of the sick ; as if more truly heroic 
deeds and words were not daily done and uttered, 
in these same sick chambers, than battle-fields have 
ever witnessed. Ah ! yes ; to be devout and patient 
and unmurmuring and forbearing and unselfish ; to 
stifle one's resentments, to withold words of com- 
]ilaint and reproach, to be ever ready with words 
of love and kindness, these are the real virtues after 
all— -worth more, far more, than the active, showy 
ones that figure and bustle about camps and courts — 
these you are sure of; the others are always more 
or less mixed up Avith selfishness and ambition ; 
tliese are pure, sincere, precious ; 'tis these that 
piake woman lovely; these that God and holy 
r.ngels delight to look upon ; and oh, the reward 
that they bring with them — such inward peace, 
such sweet serenity of mind ; shall I ever know it, 
feel it ? — what are the applauses of the mob, along- 
side such a treasure as this? Who would be ass 
enough to exchange a quiet, unreproving con- 
science, for all the plate that has been presented, 
all the resolutions that have been voted, all the 



212 MUTTERING S AND 

medals and banners and titles and pensions that 
have been decreed, all the blasts that have been 
blown on Fame's trumpet, from the Deluge down ? 
And if I will, I may practise these virtues, may 
enjoy these rewards — who may not ? — what corner 
of earth so obscure that they may not be found 
there ? Who so poor, so lowly, so sickly, so igno- 
rant, that he can escape these duties, can be de- 
prived of these privileges? And that I should 
wish to turn my back upon them ; should wish to 
sneak out of life, before my time ; should be for 
throwing up my part, in a pet, because it does not 
suit my notions, when I might make so much of it if 
I chose ; should wilfully forego such glorious oppor- 
tunities of being and doing good, and of setting a 
good example to those about me. Oh, am I not a 
fool, fool, fool? — out upon such accursed infatua- 
tion ! I shall pay for it most bitterly, most right- 
eously, hereafter; my eyes will be opened, then. 
I shall find, to my cost, how utterly I have miscon- 
strued, how abominably I have perverted God's 
gift of life ; wake up, man, w^ake up ; a truce to this 
indecent grumbling, this disgraceful listlessness ; 
come, stir your stumps ; don't fret over the past, 
but make the most of what remains; turn it to 
some account, jDUt it to some worthy use ; waste no 
more breath in words, but up and act, act, act ! 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 213 

Stumbled upou again, to-daj; he was in 

the same bitter, railing vein, as when I saw him 
last ; worse, if anything ; what set him going more 
particularly, was the recent State Election, and its 
disgusting result, as he called it — " I have no pa- 
tience," said he, " with the people ; how could they 
make such perfect asses of themselves ? — the idea 
of making that bag of wind, that noisy, shallow 
demagogue, Muggins, Governor, and of passing by 
that glorious old trump of a statesman and patriot, 
Scroggins; it is too bad; but isn't it always so? 
Isn't every popular election a monument of pop- 
ular folly? WonH it be, so long as this infernal 
humbug of universal suffrage prevails ? And such a 
bench of Judges as they have put in — a precious set 
of fellows, to be sure. Who are they ? Who knows 
them? Youngsters, adventurers — not a white 
head among them ; the idea of thrusting aside age, 
learning, wisdom, in favor of a mere parcel of poli- 
ticians — isn't it atrocious ? What right have they 
to mix up Justice with Politics in this style ? 
What business have the expounders of the Law to 
go about mounting the stump, turning slang- 
whangers, bespattering each other with all the filthy 
epithets that are engendered in pot-houses ? We 
shall catch it, we shall catch it, depend upon it, for 



214 MUTTERINGS AND 

tempting Providence in this way ; we may blunder 
along for a while, but the day of retribution will 
come ; the whirlwind tvill be reaped at last ; and a 
terrible tornado it will be, too ; we are dashing 
along, it seems to me even now, at a frightful rate 
on the Road to Ruin, ruin ruin" — (I couldn't agree 
with him, either as to the Election or as to the pros- 
pect ahead ; on the contrary, I see much to admire 
in the successful Muggins, both as man and magis- 
trate ; and as to the newly elected Judges, he must 
be strangely ignorant, or furiously partisan, who 
does not recognize much that is respectable alike 
in worth and learning among them ; but I held my 
peace, and so he rattled on) — "But it's all of a 
piece ; our political follies are no greater than our 
social ; we seem to delight in making ninnies of 
ourselves in every way ; there never was such a crop 
of humbugs in the world, as now — Socialism, Mes- 
merism, Millerism, Mormonism, Bloomerism — not 
a week without some vile quackery or other ; every 
lying charlatan that comes along, with sound lungs 
and a face of brass to back him, is sure of us — is 
sure of his thousands of victims, and their dollars — 
we seem determined to turn our backs upon calm 
wisdom and good sense, in all the departments ot 
life — we are crazy after novelties, mysteries, mon- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 215 

strosities of all kinds, and have no relish, either for 
the patient investigation, or modest, simple exhibi- 
tion of Truth — our tastes are all perverted, too ; we 
have no real, bona fide love of the beautiful in Na- 
ture or in Art ; rattling over the face of the earth 
as we do in our railroad cars, we scarce condescend 
to raise our eyes from our newspapers to behold the 
most exquisite scenery — nay, most of us would take 
far more pleasure in seeing a train of those same 
cars go dashing by, and in listening to the screams 
of the locomotive, than they would in watching the 
flight of the eagle, or in hearing the music of the 
nightingale ; as to any quiet, deliberate, rational 
enjoyment of anything, be it a dinner, or a book, or 
a picture, or a waterfall, it seems quite out of date ; 
we go for bustle, hurry, rush, gross animal excite- 
ments; we have no time to linger over the pure, 
tranquil beauty that shines through the works of 
Raphael, but the gaudy, extravagant pictures of 
"Young France," with their false sentiment and 
their perpetual appeals to the appetites, these we 
understand — these we buy up with eagerness — 
you'll find them in every barber's shop and bar- 
room in the land. So with books, — who cares, 
now-adays, for the elaborate beauty of Pope, the 
quiet sentiment of Goldsmith? why a man who 
would venture to quote them, would be voted a 



216 MUTTERINGS AND 

bore, a slow coach, a perfect antediluvian ; no girl 
would have him ; far, far safer for him, in a matri- , 
monial point of view, to let off a sky-rocket from ■ 
Carlyle or Emerson, or pour forth a misty strain 
from the divinely incomprehensible Tennyson — 
anything, anything but good strong sense, conveyed 
in clear, flowing diction. That's quite out of fash- 
ion. Abominable perversion, to be sure ; 'tis like 
preferring a piece of sparkling, sputtering fireworks 
to a lovely golden sunset — but so it is ; noise, fury, 
glare, mystery, are the order of the day. Who ever 
thinks, now-a-days, of reading a good, old-fashioned, 
hearty, natural, sound English novel, like Tom 
Jones or Joseph Andrews ? We have no stomachs 
for any such wholesome fare as that — ^but the sus- 
picious, high seasoned dishes served up by a Sue, or 
a Dumas, we can all bolt them down with most 
frightful avidity. What millions and millions of 
those filthy, fiery French novels are continually cir- 
culating through the country ; every book-stall, 
steamboat, rail car, is filled with them — they are 
driving all the sound, generous literature of our 
forefathers off the course. Scott himself will soon 
go by the board, at this rate. What precious men- 
tal food for the rising generation ; it is really horri- 
ble to think of the effect that must be produced by 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 217 

all this poisonous trash. Is it not the same in mu- 
sic, too ? We have no patience now for the classic 
compositions of Handel or Haydn — we can hardly 
sit still under Mozart, Oh no, Verdi and his kettle 
drums, for our money; an opera, to be palatable 
now-a-days, must have at least half a dozen murders 
and incests, and such like stimulants in it; the or- 
chestra can't be too strong, or fast, or furious; 
excitement, excitement, that's what we want — a 
perpetual stretching of the nerves, an eternal keep- 
ing up of the steam ; anything like a slow move- 
ment is intolerable to us, be it in a steamboat or a 
fiddle-bow ; no matter where we may be, no matter 
what the scenery may be around us — Jersey Flats 
or Vale of Tempe, 'tis all one — nothing less than a 
two-forty nag, or mile-a-miuute locomotive, will 
serve our turn. The ocean itself, we only think of 
it as a race-course for steamers ; hurry, hurry hurry, 
that's the motto of the age; one can hardly find 
time now-a-days to chew his food, or pick his teeth, 
or pronounce his words. It is as much as a man's 
character is worth to be seen walking deliberately, 
or looking in at a shop window — he is forthwith 
pronounced an idler, a vagabond, one who is shirk- 
ing his duties to society; he himself feels guilty, 
feels as if the police had their eyes upon him. Pah ! 
10 



218 MUTTEKINGS AND 

it's disgusting to think of the tumultuous, the absurd 
lives that most of us are leading ; what are they but 
one eternal race with time, one perpetual chase 
after news and business — our brains in a constant 
whirl — our whole faculties given up to the mere 
outside, material interests and excitements around 
us. There is no dignity, or tranquillity, or depth, 
or heart in them. Yes, we are fast becoming as 
fussy, and fidgety, and noisy, and superficial, and' 
conceited a set of fellows as ever made a planet un'"' 
comfortable. Brag and crow as much as we will," 
we are not half so sensible, we don't enjoy life half 
so much, as our forefathers did — and yet we talk of 
them as if they were mere43abies alongside of us ; 
as if our century were worth all its predecessors put 
together — ^humbug, humbug! I shall of course be 
called a fool and slanderer for saying so, and yet I 
do sa}^, that I don't believe there is one whit more 
genuine worth, wit, wisdom, on earth, to-day, than 
there was in the age of Pericles. The Athenians 
certainly did behave very abominably, when they 
gave Aristides his walking ticket ; but did we men 
of the Empire city behave much better, during the 
late election ? Did we show any more good sense 
in the choice of our rulers, or good temper in our 
conduct at the polls ? I very much doubt whether 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 219 

any exercise of the elective franchise at Rome or 
Athens was ever productive of one half the amount 
of lying and bribery, of bloody noses and cracked 
crowns, that disgraced our metropolis the other day. 
No — men are just the same miserable old sixpences, 
the world is just the same shabby old concern now as 
it ever was ; where are all these boasted improve- 
ments ? I can't see them ; I can't discover a single 
corner of the earth in a really happy, healthy con- 
dition. Look at Europe — what a scene of uproar, 
confusion, panic, wretchedness — what frightful un- 
certainty as to the future ; that some terrible colli- 
sion is to come off soon, who can doubt ? And even 
if Liberty should carry the day, can she keep it? 
No, they are not fit for Liberty, not capable of self- 
government, not a nation of them all. Is there 
anything in Asia that looks like Progress ? Has 
mind marched a single inch forward, in Af- 
rica, since creation morning? How many of the 
islands of the earth are the abodes of peaceful, lov- 
ing Christian men ? let a new one heave in sight 
to-morrow, and what a scrabbling and squabbling 
there will be about it among the nations — will 
they not all be ready, eager to cut each other's 
throats for the sake of its few paltry acres? Our 
South American brethren, are they dwelling to- 



220 MUTTERINGS AND 

gether in unity, or has it been a perfect Kilken- 
ny cat business with, them from the beginning? 
Our own apparent prosperity, is it of the right sort? 
Will it last ? Are there no breakers ahead ? Who 
does not see that it will take all our eyes, and wits, 
and forbearance to keep this union of ours from 
splitting to pieces ? What ground is there then for 
this bragging and self-glorifying, that we hear so 
much of? We have far more reason to be ashamed 
of ourselves, and to be filled with apprehensions. 
Ah, the more one thinks of what life really is, 
thinks of the frightful preponderance there is, and 
ever has been in the world, of ignorance, folly, 
wickedness, over their opposites, the more sickened 
and disgusted one becomes with it all — pah ! what a 
set, what a set — such a planet is a perfect disgrace 
to the system — only look at it a minute^ — take this 
very town of ours, which we are all so fond of 
crowing about — of the millions of transactions of 
all kinds which are going on in it, this very houi', 
how many are really creditable to the parties con- 
cerned ? Of the thousands of dinners that are be- 
ing cooked, how many are in the hands of artists, 
how many are entrusted to abominable bunglers ? 
Is it not frightful to think of the awful quantity of 
greasy soup, sour bread, rancid butter, bullet-like 



MUSINGS OF AN INVAT.ID, 221 

peas, waxy potatoes, tough fowls, over-roasted joints, 
that will this day be hurried down the throats of 
our fellow-citizens? Of the individuals, too, who 
are about to disintegrate those same fowls and 
joints, how many will be cool, clear-headed carvers, 
how many will be furious hackers, manglers, spat- 
terers ? Of the servants in waiting, how many will 
be light-footed, wide awake, respectful ; how many 
noisy, clumsy, dish-breaking whelps? Of the hun- 
dreds of pianos that are being thumped upon, how 
many are sources of pleasure, how many are posi- 
tive nuisances to the neighborhood ? Of the hun- 
dreds of doctors who are circulating about the 
streets in their gigs, how many are benefiting their 
patients, how many the undertakers ? Of the advo- 
cates who are blazing away in our courts, how 
many are doing justice to their clients, or edifying 
their hearers ? Is it not disgusting to think of the 
amount of cloudy logic, stale rhetoric, indecent per- 
sonalities, brow-beating of witnesses, humbugging 
of juries, teazing of judges, that every day disgraces 
our halls of justice? But why go into detail? 
Take any walk of life you please, from the sacred 
desk down to the bench of the boot-black, and will 
you not find it the same ? How Uttle, little that 
will bear analysis — be it in matters of duty or of 



222 MUTTERINGS AND 

pleasure, of business or amusement, still, still the 
same. Why, take the mere games of chess, or 
whist, or billiards, that will be played about town, 
before another sun rises, for every ten that will be 
respectable exhibitions of skill or judgment, will 
there not be full a hundred that will be disgraceful 
failures, that would fairly turn the stomach of a Hoyle 
or Phiilidor, if compelled to look on ?" Here we 
parted company — otherwise, no doubt, he would 
have gone on in the same strain till now, poiiring 
forth his invectives, bespattering everybody and 
everything that came in his way — seeing nothing 
in heaven above or earth beneath that was pleasant, 
or bright, or encouraging — so it seems to be with 
him always — one perpetual volley of scorn and sar- 
casm — and yet is there not some truth, some force, 
mixed up with all this extravagance ? Certainly 
there is — there is something quaint and picturesque, 
too, in his mode of expressing himself. If he is 
always unjust and severe, 'tis but fair to admit that 
he is often sprightly and entertaining in his re- 
marks. But is this the spirit in which to handle 
such themes ? this vein of mingled vanity and bit- 
terness ? Would a man who really grieved over 
the follies and errors of his brethren, have let off 
such a tirade as this ? It sounds far more like the 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 223 

talk of one who loves to hear the sound of his own 
voice, who tries to say strong things, who is amus- 
ing his fancy, and sharpening his wit at the expense 
of those about him — ^far more like the language of 
a fjistidious, impatient, selfish nature, than of true 
charity, true zeal for the welfare of one's fellows. 
Why make this elaborate parade of human weak- 
nesses ? why dwell with such suspicious gusto on 
the details of all this filth that surrounds you? 
Would a genuine reformer talk in this style ? No, 
indeed — he would be far more disposed to forbear- 
ance, far more disposed to weep than to sneer. He 
a reformer, forsooth — oh no — he is quite too fond 
of his comfort for that — quite too warmly attached 
to his pipe and his pot, to embark upon any such 
rugged, uninviting enterprise as that — he can sit at 
his ease in his chair, and rail at the crowd as it 
passes, but as to getting up, and doing good, and 
lielping mend matters, not he, indeed — it is alto- 
gether pleasanter to fire off one's witticisms at the 
world's vices and follies, before an applauding 
audience, isn't it, than quietly, patiently, faithfully 
to exert one's self towards removing them — but 
which is the more respectable, decent, manly course ? 
Come, man, get up, then — abandon this inglorious 
ease, lay aside that dainty meerschaum, let it go for 



2 24 MUTTERINGS AND 

a few days, just by way of experiment — never mind 
opening that bottle — let the wine alone — neither 
you nor the wine will be any the worse for it a 
week hence. Cultivate the acquaintance of the 
Croton for a day or two — 'twill be a pleasant nov- 
elty for the stomach. Come, let's go take a walk — 
'twill do us good — not in the gay, handsome parts 
of the town, though — let's go see how the poor folks 
live — come. Ah! where are we? strange streets, 
these — not very clean ones, either. What an at- 
mosphere — very different from that of the Fifth 
Avenue or Union Place, isn't it ? Never mind — 
don't turn back — don't let your nose run away at 
the first assault — 'twill be a good lesson for it, such 
a stench as this — we shall relish all the more, too, 
the pure air and sweet roses at home — come ahead. 
Ah, worse and worse — a suspicious-looking neigh- 
borhood this — don't be alarmed, though — there are 
our friends with the stars — we are safe enough ; to 
be sure, it might be advisable to take off those 
dainty lemon-colored gloves of yours — they might 
provoke an unpleasant strain of remark in these 
parts, Now come on — ah, viler and viler — what a 
hole — what crumbling, dilapidated houses, what 
ragged, abandoned-looking inmates. Whew ! what 
a steam is rising from these abominable streets. 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 226 

Surely this must be the Five Points — what else 
should it be, but that famous pit of iniquity, the 
sink of the earth, the headquarters of filth and ras- 
cality and wretchedness. Ah, you're for getting off, 
I see, as fast as possible — you have no notion of risk- 
ing your precious limbs and pockets in such a den as 
this ; it isn't strange; we are amongst a set of horrible 
wretches, to be sure. What, you shrink from them ; 
you are unwilling to speak to, even to look at these 
poor devils ? for shame, man ! you, who are so fond 
of railing at the vices and miseries of the world, are 
yet afraid to look them fairly in the face, are 
for beating an inglorious retreat, the moment 
that you are confronted with the disgusting reality 
— stop, man, stop — now that we are here, let's look 
into this matter — let's see with our own eyes what 
this terrible place is made of — terrible, indeed — 
heavens, what a crew ! — what a nest of thieves, 
drunkards, strumpets, vagabonds of all colors and 
sizes — see that group of half-naked, dirty brats — 
poor things, what a place for them — what a school — 
precious lessons are they learning — no prayers, no 
hymns, do they ever hear, nothing but cursings and 
railings and foul, beastly words — such feces as one 
sees here — ^leering, loathsome wretches, there is no- 
thing in Hogarth half so sickening, so appalling — no 
10* 



226 MUTTERINGS AND 

wonder one shudders, and is for hnrrjing away from 
them. And yet, we ought to be here, we ought to 
come, and realize, and take to heart these sad, dis- 
mal scenes — yes, man, you, to whom God has given 
so many good things, on whom he has so freely be- 
stowed health, and means, and leisure, where could 
you better expend them, than here? What an 
opening, what a field of labor for the philanthropist 
is this. Wouldn't it be glorious now to revolution- 
ize this spot, to replace these vile haunts with come- 
ly dwellings, to let in the pure breath of heaven 
amongst these pestilent streets and alleys, to help 
restore to order and decency these poor souls and 
bodies of these degraded brethren and sisters of 
ours ? Come, let's try the experiment — what nobler 
enterprise could be devised for human wits ? Come, 
throw aside your luxuries, for a while — ^your fine 
books and pictures, and dainties — ^let me, too, for- 
get my paltry aches, and idle grumblings, and let 
us go forth, and see what we can do in this matter 
— 'twill come hard at first, to be sure — 'twill be a 
terribly repulsive, discouraging undertaking, but 
who knows how it may end ? Is it so visionary a 
thing, after all? Why, even this hole is not so 
black as it appears — even here, we may stumble upon 
an occasional pleasant smile, an ingenuous expres- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID, 227 

sion — may meet with good impulses, that only re- 
quire a kindly culture, to ripen into positive worth 
— quick wits, that, properly trained, might be made 
the naeaus of usefulness and honor — 'yes, even in 
this \dle dunghill, there may be pearls worth hunt- 
ing up — let's set about it, then — ^let's spend a month 
that way, if it be only for the novelty of the thing — 
we shall feel all the better for it, I dare say — shall 
discover a new meaning, a new relish in life — there 
will be less sneering and snarling in our conversa- 
tion, I warrant you — less fretfulness and fastidious- 
ness in our tempers — you smile, and seem to won- 
der whether I'm awake, or dreaming — I am awake, 
I'm in earnest — come, let's devote the rest of our 
lives to these employments — we shall be rewarded, 
most handsomely rewarded, for it — we shall be re- 
spected, respectable men ; people will be proud to 
take off their hats to us — glad to grasp us by the 
hand — good men shall sing our praises — poets shall 
pen our epitaphs — sculptors shall send us down, with 
all the honors, to posterity. Oh, it must be de- 
lightful to have conscience on one's side, quietly 
endorsing all one's transactions — delightful to feel 
for one's self, and not merely take it on hearsay, 
that pleasure and duty may jog cozily along to- 
gether on the same road ; that's the only receipt, 



228 MUTTERINGS AND 



after all, for a quiet life, for a peaceful exit — then 
we sliall have the approving smiles of the angels, 
shall be received as welcome guests, as worthy 
citizens of heaven . 



And so my dear old friend has gone to 

his long home, at last — "after life's fitful fever, he 
sleeps well." It was. indeed a fitful fever, with 
him — unluckiest of all unlucky wights. And yet, 
fortune did not inflict her heaviest, most stunning 
blows upon him — she neither robbed him of health, 
or means, or friends, or reputation — but she seemed 
to take pleasure in annoying him in ten thousand 
little paltry ways — teazing, badgering, and worry- 
ing him out of all comfort and patience. Indeed, I 
don't know that I ever saw him comfortable for 
five consecutive minutes — something or other was 
for ever fretting and distressing him — his boots, 
were always pinching him, or his hat was chafing 
his forehead, or his coat was cutting him to the 
quick, or he had a tickling in his throat, or a bleed- 
ing at the nose, or a spark in his eyes, or a singing 
in his ears, or some infernal thing, or other, that 
kept continually reminding him what a poor mis- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 229 

erable mortal he was — so was it at all times and in 
all places — at home, he had no comfort — his wife 
was always sick, or his servants were drunk — his 
chimney was all smoke and no blaze — ^his bell-pull 
was broken — his beef was cold — his wine was warm 
— everj'thing seemed to go wrong — at church, he 
could not enjoy Divine Worship — his pew was 
always the first to be pounced upon by intrusive 
strangers — confound them, what right have people 
to trespass on one's property, in this way ? I should 
as soon think of jumping into a man's carriage, un- 
asked — he was right in getting vexed about it. The 
same on Change — 'twas his luck, invariably, to be 
a bull when he ought to have been a bear, a bear 
when he ought to have been a bull. Did a new 
set of counterfeit notes make its appearance in the 
community ? He, of course, was sure to be 
amongst the first and heaviest recipients — the same 
in his purchases — if he took a bill and receipt, he 
could never lay his hands upon it, and so was con- 
tinually squabbling with insolent tradesmen. The 
only lottery ticket he ever bought, that drew any- 
thing, happened to be the very one that he was in- 
duced to part with, to a friend — ^his luck, his luck 
— poor fellow, he seemed to be eternally called up- 
on to do jury duty, to be served with a perpetual 



230 MUTTERINGS AND 

succession of subpoenas — he was always in hot 
water about his taxes and his mihtia fines — not a 
moment's peace or quiet could he get out of life — 
his very watch seemed to conspire against him, and 
to love to stop, at the very time when he most de- 
pended upon its going — ^how many times, in conse- 
quence, has he been left behind by steamboats — 
how many trains of cars have given him the slip, 
to his unqualified disgust, and the equally unquah- 
fied delight of a set of jeering porters and loafers — 
he was for ever running against fresh paint, getting 
spattered by omnibuses, tripped up by dogs or ap- 
ple-parings, having umbrellas poked in his eyes — 
more than once, has he been, most innocently too, 
involved in a street fight, and his poor head has 
taken a shower of blows intended for other noddles 
— so fared he always — ^if he went to the theatre, 
there was sure to be an apology for the very per- 
former whom he had set his heart upon seeing. Oh 
Lord — I shall never forget that night he was col- 
lared and carried out of the stage box, at the old 
Park, from his most unfortunate resemblance, as it 
turned out afterwards, to a notorious counterfeiter 
of the day — collared just as he was comfortably set- 
tling himself in a most eligible seat, for which he 
had paid some four hundred per cent, premium, that 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 231 

very morning ; and no wonder — 'twas a great occa- 
sion — no less than Fanny Kenible's first appearance 
in America. Wlio that witnessed, can ever forget 
that glorious, delicious personation of Juliet ? Is 

it strange, that could never allude to that 

affair, without using language, strong even unto 
blasphemy ? Poor soul, his last sickness, they say, 
was quite too much in keeping with the whole tenor 
of his life — it seems that the stupid old fool of a 
nurse that waited upon him, would persist in mis- 
taking tonics for cathartics, and cathartics for tonics, 
till the patient was really cheated and worried out 
of existence, in the most unseemly, disgraceful 
manner — and when, at last, the breath was out of 
his body, even then, it seemed as if Fortune were 
determined to have one more malicious grin at his 
expense — for while they were rendering the last sad 
ofl&ces to his remains, the hearse that was convey- 
ing them to their final resting-place, most per- 
versely, parted company with one of its wheels — 
this frightened the horses, who began to cut up a 
variety of most unseasonable capers, to the great an- 
noyance of the mourners and friends, and the ill- 
smothered merriment of the heartless bystanders. 
Is it to be wondered at, that a man thus vexed, 
and irritated, and pestered, should occasionally have 



232 MUTTEELNGS AND 

lost heart and patience ? " Better far," he would 
saj, "to be fairly knocked down, and trampled 
upon by Fortune — there would be something re- 
pectable in that, something dignified, something 
that might lay claim to the sympathies of one's fel- 
low-men. But to be made a perfect ass, and a butt 
of, to be the mere theme of her Ladyship's laughter, 
'twas more than mortal man could bear." Is it 
strange, that he should get angry, and fall to curs- 
ing his unlucky stars — and at times that he should 
question the ways of Providence, and think it hard 
that the great Creator, who sees "alike the hero 
perish, and the sparrow fall," should permit the life 
of any creature of his thus to be turned into a 
nuisance and a torment ? Well, well, well — peace 
be with thee, old friend. I trust that thou art now 
having a quiet time of it, art enjoying a sweet, 
dreamless sleep, and that when thou awakest, thou 
wilt enter upon a scene of pleasing duties, of tran- 
quil enjoyments, unvexed by the thousand annoy- 
ances, un visited by the " thousand natural pangs 
that flesh is heir to." 



My good genius took me to the theatre last 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. '233 

night, to see Eichard the Third — ah, what an en- 
tertaiument ! I wouldn't have missed it for a good 
many bushels of gold dust. Never was the usurper 
in higher health and spirits — never before have I 
seen one half the amount of exercise taken in the 
part — such a knocking together of gloves, such a 
clatter of boots ! How he did fl j about, to be sure. 
What infernal faces he kept making up — what an 
outlay of lungs — what a perpetual' making of 
points, from the very first line of the soliloquy, up 
to the great final fight. Such a fight, too — there 
seemed to be no end to it. The tyrant seemed de- 
termined not to give up the ghost, come what 
would — punch, punch, punch, went Richmond's 
blade, through and through him, at least a score of 
times ; still he kept at it, as brisk as a bee, as full of 
sound and fnry as ever, to the evident surprise and 
disgust of his antagonist, and to the great edifica- 
tion of an intensely excited pit — when he was fairly 
quieted at last, after a world of kicking, and floun- 
dering, and gasping, then the feelings of the audi- 
ence were poured forth in such a mingled torrent 
of yells and cheers, as young and ardent Demo- 
cratic Republicans alone know how to give — 'twas 
a glorious tribute to genius — one hardly knew 
whicTi to admire most, the performance itself, or 



234 MUTTERINGS AND 

tliis cordial, beautiful recognition of its merits. If 
tradition speak truth, liow very flat and stupid, in 
comparison, must Garrick and Henderson have been 
in this part — how tame and inefficient the versions 
of Cooke and Kean — my neighbor didn't think so, 
though — it Avas clear that this superb piece of act- 
ing was completely thrown away upon him — but 
then he was an Englishman — a bilious, bigoted 
Englishman — confound him, in some of the most 
thrilling passages, I overheard him muttering to 
himself, what an infernal humbug-— and when the 
curtain dropped at the close, he had the audacity to 
pronounce aloud the words atrocious swindle, and 
then rushed out of the box, slamming the door vio- 
lently after him. Ah dear, such is the force of vile, 
vile prejudice— the conceited old wretch — as if he 
had ever heard anything half so fine, at Drury 
Lane, or Covent Garden, either. And yet, to be 
candid, it must be confessed that the play was not 
so judiciously cast throughout, as it might have 
been. For instance, was it altogether the thing, to 
put those two fat, red-faced women, each weighing 
her two hundred and fifty pounds, in the parts of 
Lady Anne and Queen Elizabeth? Was there 
anything regal or interesting in their appearance 
or movements? Again, were those two dirty, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 235 

shabbily dressed brats, that spoke so through their 
noses, and made such fiightful havoc with the text, 
anything like adequate representatives of the lovely 
young princes? Was it in keeping with the char- 
acter of the timid, amiable, philosophizing King 
Henry, to be so frightfully over the bay as he was ? 
— so much so, indeed, that he could hardly stand up 
to be stabbed by the tyrant? Wasn't it rather cruel, 
too, in the manager, to thrust that poor fellow, who 
was evidently laboring with a severe touch of 
bronchitis, into the arduous part of Buckingham ? 
there were little slips, moreover, in the matters of 
scenery and costume, that ought not to have been 
made, in an establishment of such princely re- 
sources. What right had Eichard to woo Lady 
Anne, in St. Mark's Place, Venice ? Why did 
Richmond address those encouraging remarks to 
his troops, in a pass in the Tyrol ? and, above all, 
Avhat business had the American flag to wave over 
the field of Bosworth? Why should the usurper 
have fellows in his pay, who, by all the laws of 
dress, ought to have been at Salamis, or Marathon ? 
And why did that individual in the cocked hat and 
drab breeches perform such feats of valor on the 
Lancasterian side ? Hang him, he was at least four 
centuries before his time — he ouoht to have been 



236 MUTTERINGS AND 

earning those laurels at Saratoga, or at Bennington. 
But I am hypercritical, perhaps — after all, these 
were mere spots upon the sun — the glorious, the 
magnificent, the intensely intellectual Richar.l 
atoned for them all, an hundred-fold. It is, indeed, 
an epoch in one's life, the witnessing such a perform- 
ance. 'Twas something, doubtless, to have seen a 
Siddons, or a Kemble, in Macbeth — to have heard 
the pleasant voice, the merry laugh of Mrs. Jordan, 
in Rosalind — to have seen the School for Scandal, 
or Twelfth Night, cast as Lamb describes them — 
but oh, how they would have all failed and faded 
into insignificance, before the superb demonstration 
of last night! Why couldn't Lamb have been 
present, and Coleridge, and Manning, and Hazlitt, 
and the rest of them ? Poor fellows, they lived a 
half a century too soon. Ah well, let me be grate- 
ful, profoundly, lastingly grateful for this unpre- 
cedented dramatic treat. 



Of all the polite and amiable men that have 
made their bows, or waved their beavers, since the 

Flood, my excellent friend certainly bears the 

bell. I speak not of mere skin-deep politeness 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 237 

conventional civility — oh, no ; his is a thorough- 
going, bona fide, unremitting courtesy^a suavity 
springing from the heart, and pervading and ani- 
mating every muscle and bone of his body. Let 
him that doubts but behold him, as he makes his 
entree in a drawing-room, and above all, observe 
him while he is discharging the arduous duties of 
New Year's day — what a thorough dedication of 
the \\-hole man is here to the great task before 
him ; Avhat i^rofasion of compliments does he keep 
pouring forth — what frequent, earnest, hearty hand- 
shakings for his intimate friends ; what effective and 
eloquent bows for the rest. What deep duckings 
and divings of the upper portions — what nimbleness 
and suppleness in the leg department — yes, a sweep 
of full ninety degrees, in that last conge. Surely 
this man means something — this is no joke, but a 
veritable labor. of love. At times, indeed, to say 
truth, my friend's politeness is almost a source of 
annoyance to those about him. I have known him, 
for instance, under the influence of this feeling, per- 
form, in the aisle of a church, a series of pictviresque 
and animated evolutions, quite as ill-timed as they 
were well meant, and which have sadly discomposed 
the nerves of the more sophisticated occupants of 
the adjoining pews. At other limes it is merely lu- 



238 MUTI^ERINGS AND 

dicrous. I happened to be with him in the street the 
other day, when a drove of hogs passed by. Now, 
is so amiably disposed towards all God's crea- 
tures, that this feeling, aided and abetted by the 
courteous practices of near half a century, absolutely 
impelled him to take off his hat to them. Soon 
after this occurrence, a most shabby and worthless- 
looking terrier made his appearance, and would 

persist in getting in 's way, once or twice 

nearly tripping him up. Any other man, under 
such circumstances, would have said very promptly, 
Get out, with a kick probably, and possibly 
with some disrespectful allusion to the terrier's 

mother. All that could be forced out of was 

a gentle wave of the hand, and " Make room, if you 
please." I even fancied once that I saw him actu- 
ally bowing to a roast turkey, just before proceed- 
ing to carve it — absard as it appeared, I neverthe- 
less interpreted it into a sort of apology to the great 
flimily of turkeys, for the apparent heartlessness and 
cruelty of the transaction — in the same spirit he 
would no doubt ask pardon of a rose-bush for rob- 
bing it of its flowers; nay, of a very mosquito, for 
injuring it while in the very act of biting him— so 
deep, so abiding is the kindness of this man's heart. 
Thus has it been with him, they say, from the be- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 239 

ginning ; his nurses are reported to have said that 
he was the best infant that ever drew breath — that 
when weaning time came, he manifested a spirit of 
resignation most creditable to him — that amidst all 
the terrors of teething, he behaved beautifully. 
His school-mistresses and masters all agreed in rep- 
resenting him as the quietest, most docile pupil they 
ever had ; that the birch and the ferule, that were 
plied so continually and so vigorously all around 
him, never alighted on his innocent little person ; 
they are said to have added, that they did not be- 
lieve he had ever murdered a fly, or pelted a frog, 
in the whole course of his boyish career. And yet 
there are those who, incapable of comprehending 
so rare a goodness, have utterly misinterpreted 
these manifestations of it, and have even gone so 
far as to insinuate that my old friend is somewhat 
out of his head, which they most absurdly attri- 
bute to his having been crossed in love some years 
since — others have impudently thrown out the idea, 
that there have always been a good many vacant 
apartments in his attic, while a third class do not 
scruple to avow that they believe him to be a great 
rogue at bottom ; taking it for granted, that he in- 
demnifies himself for all this outlay of civility in 
pnblic, by all kinds of secret meannesses and ras- 



240 MUTTERINGS AND 

calities. Abominable, atrocious libels these, alike 
upon his head and heart. He is as intelligent and 
sensible as he is honest and warm-hearted ; he is 
indeed of the excellent of the earth : God keep him 
long upon it ; we can't spare such a delightful old 
neighbor and peace-maker ; there are quite too few 
of them in this brawling, wrangling world of ours. 
Yes, old friend, sero in coelura redeas. And when 
thou takest thy departure, may I be graciously per- 
mitted to accompany thee. I would fain be by, 
when thou presentest thyself for admission at the 
celestial gate. What a profusion of bows, saluta- 
tions, and acknowledgments wilt thou bestow on 
holy Peter. I greatly fear that the heavenly Jani- 
tor, if he retain any portion of the impulsive tem- 
perament that he had here below, will lose patience 
and exclaim, " Come in, friend, come in ; have done 
with all those flourishes and fine speeches, and 
enter, enter freely." And then with what a pleas- 
ant smile wilt thou greet thy old friends and kins- 
folk ; with what profound respect, with what deep 
sense of the honor conferred, wilt thou make thy 
bow of introduction to the old prophets, and patri- 
archs, and all the other notabilities of the Holy 
City. But I dare not dwell upon anticipations so 
delightful, and so must bid thee adieu for awhile, 
with my humble, but most hearty God bless thee ! 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 241 

I FEEL decidedly better this bright, beautifiil 
autumnal day — such a day — too good for us pooi- 
invalids — we can't enjoy it — ^how completely is such 
a treasure thrown away, too, on your men of busi- 
ness, your politicians, your sensualists — the poets 
and the painters, tliey can comprehend it, can ap- 
preciate it, can reproduce it with their glorious pens 
and pencils — yes, this day, doth it not live and 
glow, in all its brilliant beauty, in the matchless 
pictures of Cole, in the exquisite poems of Bryant ? 
Alas, the artist's version must soon fade and 
moulder away, while the poet's will live for ever — 
■will it not be so ? — will not that matchless sonnet 
to October last so long as earth lasts, and its hours, 
and its seasons? — surely, surely it will. Let me 
read it again — if I can't enjoy the original as I 
would like, let me at least make the most of this 
beautiful copy — true, I have not health, strength, 
nerve, capacity enough, to hunt up and explore for 
myself all these hidden beauties and meanings in 
nature, but I can relish these charming descriptions ; 
can avail myself of the labors of this gifted trans- 
lator, this wise and kindly interpreter ; let me be 
thankful for such a privilege. 

How lively the street seems, this morning. Ah, 

th'^re goes , smiling, cozy, placid as ever — 

11 



242 MUTTERINGS AND 

he's in no liurry, evidently. Did that man ever run? 
I doubt it ; I doubt if the smartest shower that ever 
fell, could force him into a trot; yon can't get rapid 
motion out of him ; you can't fluster him, either, or 
discompose those nerves of his, for the life of you ; 
I don't beheve the great day of reckoning itself 
could throw him into much of a flutter ; and yet, 
how dare he take things so coolly ? A man, at his 
time of life, a rational, accountable, sinful man, how 
dare he manifest such indifference about his spiritual 
welfare ? A man, too, who has such numerous 
and heavy creditors all over town, what right has 
he to amble along in this tranquil, pleasant sort of 
style ? He looks, don't he, as if he was worrying 
himself about his sins, or his debts, either ; as if he 
cared the toss of a farthing, how matters stood with 
him, either on the books of his brethren here below, 
or on those of the recording angel above ? not he : 
oh, no, present comfort, present enjoyment, that's 
his motto ; he means to have an agreeable day of 
it, come what will; he will, probably, spend the 
morning cracking jokes, smoking his friends' segars, 
beating them at billiards; if his wine be well-iced 
at dinner, and in good condition, what cares he 
whether it be paid for or not ? You'll be sure to 
find him at the opera to-night, in the very best, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 243 

snuggest seat in the house; no man there will enjoy 
more the pure tenor of Salvi, or the winning ways 
of Bosio ; to be sure, he'll have no right to be there ; 
he ought to be living humbly, frugally ; he ought 
to be hard at work in some honest calling — striving 
to reduce that mountain of debt, instead of secretly 
enjoying its extent and elevation, but he won't ; ho 
will, in theory, indeed, cheerfully recognize the 
propriety of punctuality and honesty; will even 
express himself, on these subjects, as neatly and 
pithily as the Hon. Joseph Surface ever did. But 
there it ends — the scamp — the scoundrel. And yet, 
I fear, I am not half so angry with him as a truly 
exemplary man would be ; to say truth, I fear I 
am, this minute, rather envying him his high 
health and his good spirits, than grieving over his 
delinquencies, or feeling any real alarm about his 
prospects hereafter. Ah, dear, this reminds me of 

my whimsical neighbor , and of his queer 

views on this same subject of indebtedness. 'Twas 
only yesterday that I heard him air his feelings on 
this delicate point. I happened to run against him 
in the street ; I saw at once that he was in a high 
state of excitement about something. I could not 
help asking him what the matter was. " Ah," 
said he, drawing a long breath, "I ought to be 



244 MUTTERINGS AND 

ashamed of it, I suppose, but the truth is, I have 
just been paying a heavy grocer's bill, and it goes 
to my very soul ; I cannot get over it ; I feel as if 
I had been making a fool of myself; I might, just 
as well as not, have kept the man out of his money 
for another month ; he evidently did not expect it. 
Confound the fellow ! I could see by the quiet grin 
with which he received the money, and counted it 
over, that he was having a hearty laugh within, at 
my expense. Yes, I feel quite angry with myself ; I 
could almost blaspheme about it ; I could kick the 
fellow with a right good will; I should like to see 
a dog flying at him, this moment, or a pugilist 
damaging his ugly frontispiece. Ah, this is wrong, 
is downright criminal in me ; I know it — I confess 
it — still I feel so. And what aggravates the mat- 
ter, my dear fellow, I was ass enough to pay the 
man in gold, hard, glittering gold ; yes, a whole 
score of bright, new half-eagles. Oh, how could I 
have been such a fool ? Why not have waited a 
while, and then have discharged this cursed obli- 
gation by means of some old, ragged, filthy bank- 
note, with the signatures half eaten away. And 
if there had been a slight cloud of suspicion 
hanging over the credit of the institution, why, 
all the better — then^ perhaps I might have felt 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 245 

differently; I might have been comparatively cheer- 
ful; as it is, I feel small, cheap, wretched." — 
" But, my dear friend," said I, " tell me — was not 
the debt a fairly contracted one?" "Certainly," 
said he. " Were not the articles good ? " " Excel- 
lent." "The prices reasonable?" "They were." 
" Have you not had, then, a fair substantial pro 
quoP^ "I have." "Why then begrudge this 
worthy man his quid? Why take the matter so to 
heart ? You have but done your duty ; but obeyed 
the authoritative voice of conscience ; take comfort 
then — hold up your head — thump your breast — 
take a manly stride or two — appeal cheerfully and 
confidently to the mens conscia recti. How do you 
feel?iou;.^" "Cheap as ever," he replied ; "yes, it 
would be all folly and humbug for me to pretend 
that it were not so. Had I actually been doing 
wrong, I should not have felt half sp bad. But why 
is this, my friend ? Am I so much worse than my 
neighbors? Oh, am I the most depraved of my 
race, when I confess to you, that if I had squan- 
dered this very identical amount on a champagne 
frolic, or had I melted it down into a bracelet for 
some silly girl, I should have been better satisfied ; 
or had I given it to the cause of the widow and the 
orphan, or to some missionary enterprise, I might 



246 MUTTERINGS AND 

at least have derived comfort from the pubHcation 
of the gift ; as it is, you see how I feel. Yes, scoun- 
drel that I am, I avow to 3^ou, that I take far more 
pleasure in the indulgence of an appetite or a senti- 
ment, or in the gratification of a paltry vanity, than 
I do in the faithful discharge of an humble duty. 
Is not this a frightful state of things ? What am I 
to do ? Perhaps the perusal of some sound treatise 
on the law of debtor and creditor might do me 
good, might compose me, might restore the balance 
of my mind. Have you such a work? If so, pray 
send it to me. Meanwhile, I'll hurry home, and 
see if a chapter or two from the good book may not 
be of benefit to me." And off he went; no doubt 
he recovered himself long before he got home ; all 
he wanted was an opportunity of venting his whims. 
I dare say, he was rattling away, the very next 
minute, about something widely different, but in 
the same extravagant style, half jest, half earnest ; 
a queer genius — queerer never drew on boots. 
How different a man, to be sure, from the other ; 
catch him talking in this way — Oh no, — he would 
affect to be greatly shocked at such an exhibition 
of unsound sentiments, of rebellious, reprehensible 
feelings — enjoying them, sly dog, all the while, in 
his sleeve, most amazingly. And yet the one, ac- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 247 

cording to his own showing, is the most punctual of 
paymasters, while the other never intends to dis- 
charge a solitary obligation so long as lying and 
impudence can prevent it ; so long as a solitary new 
victim remains to be plucked. Beautiful resolution, 
glorious plan of life 1 He'll persist in it, though, 
most faithfully, and I dare say most successfully, to 
the last — there is a kind of comfort in being fleeced 
by such a handsome, well dressed, gentlemanly old 
fellow — who tells such pleasant stories, too, and 
bon mots, who sings such a capital song, who makes 
such an unimpeachable salad ; the idea of confound- 
ing such an artist as this with the vulgar scoundrels 
of the day — the idea of banishing such talent to 
Sing Sing — monstrous ! How dare you apply to 
this thorough -bred, delightful performer in the 
great social drama, such opprobrious epithets as 
rascal ? swindler ? thief? fie — ^fie — fie ! 



Another bright, bracing day — Neighbor 

don't seem to be taking much notice of it though. 
How he is hurrying down town, to be sure ; the same 
anxious, care-worn countenance as ever. Heaven 
only knows how many Boards, Meetings, Consulta- 



248 MUTTEKINGS AND 

tions, he'll be at between tbis and sunset; how 
much advising, scheming, scolding, he'll get through 
with ; talk, talk, talk, what a stream he will pour 
out ; not a moment's peace for tongue or brain ; not 
a moment will he even spare, to let that poor ne- 
glected stomach of his scrape acquaintance with a 
mouthful of victuals. How does he stand it ? — why, 
wasn't he in his grave years ago ? Well, there are 
plenty like him in town. It seems to be the order 
of things in this community ; 'tis the spirit of the 
age ; the age of improvement, this ; the wonder- 
working age of Associations and Corporations ; the 
poor old natural man is fast going by the board, 
fast being swallowed up in the artificial ; the good 
old-fashioned parts of father, son, husband, lover, 
are fast going out of the drama ; at any rate, they 
are no longer the leading Dram. Pers. ; their places 
have been usurped by Voters, Delegates, Trustees, 
Directors, Cashiers, Secretaries, and members of all 
sorts of Societies. Is not this the tendency of 
things ? Are not men fast degenerating into mere 
machines, mere wheels, big or little, in the great 
social clock-work, mere spindles in the great social 
mill ? And oh, how that mill keeps going, in this 
vast metropolis of ours ; our whole lives seem to be 
made up of one incessant stream of Primary Meet- 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 249 

ings, Committee Meetings, Mass Meetings; one 
eternal round of all sorts of Conventions; what 
witli Club Eooms, Committee Eooms, Reading 
Rooms, Lecture Rooms, a poor fellow hardly sees 
the inside of his own parlor ; the dear old fireside is 
shamefully neglected and dishonored; our wives 
and daughters are quite cheated out of their just 
claims upon our hearts. So we go ; what with our 
own, and the business of the public, our brains are 
kept in one eternal whirl — and what do we gain by 
it ? Knowledge, Health, Happiness ? not a bit of 
it ; we manage to pick up a superficial, unsatisfying 
acquaintance with a host of subjects, but have no 
clear, deep knowledge of any one. Health, say 
you? — why, it is getting to be a perfect rarity, to 
see a downright hearty, robust individual among 
one's acquaintance ; such a set of sallow, attenuated 
wretches as we are fast becoming ; why, there would 
hardly be a bid for us amongst the anthropophagi ; 
pretty soups and steaks should we make for a re- 
spectable Feejee table. Happiness, say you ? How 
can there be any happiness where the affections are 
not exercised ? where a man wilfully alienates him- 
self from the only legitimate objects of those affec- 
tions ? makes himself a stranger to his own house- 
hold ? deliberately sacrifices all the precious smiles 
11* 



250 MUTTERINGS AND 

and tears and intercourse of home, for what ? a puff 
in the papers, perhaps, or a hollow vote of thanks, 
from some board of cunning directors — precious 
pay, this ; beautiful return for a life of slavish, unna- 
tural devotion ; and yet, how many are continually 
enlisting in this hard service ; how many hundreds if 
not thousands are there, in every large city of the 
land, of these same victims of the Public ; the flower 
of whose youth, the strength of whose riper years, 
the vigor of whose minds, and the bulk of whose 
fortunes have been sacrificed upon its cruel altars ; 
nay, who have themselves, in the blindness of their 
idolatry, offered up wife, children, home, friends, 
faith, everything. It almost makes one wish that 
there was no such thing as Pablic Spirit; makes 
one sigh for the good old patriarchal days, when 
men used to sit down and chat together at their 
leisure, under their vines and fig-trees ; when they 
had time to admire the golden sunsets, and the 
music of the brooks, and the swaying of the branches, 
and the bright stars above them ; when they were 
not eternally dancing attendance on telegraphs, 
living at the mercy of ocean steamers, sighing after 
Extra Heralds at the all-glorious Falls themselves, 
discussing vile politics even on the sacred summit 
of Mount Washington — then a man might venture 



I 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 251 

forth alone, at eventide, to muse and meditate upon 
liis Maker, and himself, the fair scenes of Nature, 
the deep mysteries of life ; be caught at it now, and 
you are set down at once, either as half-cracked, or 
else as a disreputable vagabond. It really seems as 
if men must have had clearer minds and warmer 
hearts in those days ; as if their piety had been more 
fervent, their love more deep ; as if all the passions 
which exalt or degrade our nature, had had more 
freshness, keenness, intensity; if men worshipped, 
they worshipped with all their souls ; if they gave 
thanks, they did it right heartily ; if they fell to cut- 
ting each other's throats, they set about it in down- 
right earnest. What modern battles begin to ap- 
proach, in horrible carnage, those recorded in Kings 
or Chronicles ? On the other hand, what modern 
poet has put one tenth part of the fervor into his 
songs, that we find pervading and penetrating the 
Psalms of David ? Hospitality, too, the word meant 
something in old times; in this civilized age, has it 
not degenerated into a mere interchange of cards 
and formalities ? our Holidays, too ; are not the life 
and soul fast oozing out of them ? Thanksgiving, to 
be sure, still " something smacks, something grows 
to — it has a kind of taste" — but New Year's Day, is 
it not fast becoming as cold and stately as a Eoyal 



252 MUTTERINGS AND 

Drawing Eoom ? How infamously we neglect tlie 
Birthday of Washington ; and even our own Na- 
tional Birthday, how many of us even begrudge it 
a handsome, cordial celebration. We are quite too 
busy, to throw away our time on mere sentiment ; 
yes, altogether too busy to be either patriots or 
Christians ; too busy for the pleasures of home or 
the enjoyments of Art ; at Church, we are restless 
and eager for escape ; at the concert-room, we gape 
and are fidgety — even Jenny Lind herself can 
hardly keep us together unto the end of the pro- 
gramme ; at balls and social gatherings we are mute 
and solemn as if we were at a faneral ; this infernal 
Business it is, that takes the color from our cheeks, 
the lustre from our eyes — that is fast taking all the 
heart and soul out of social life. Oh, what a pre- 
cious consolation, to be told in reply, that we have 
the honor of living in the most civilized, enlight- 
ened, and wonder-working age that the sun ever 
shone upon ; that we are better fed and clad and 
lodged, and are in every way more comfortable 
than men ever were before ; that even we modest 
republicans can command ten thousand luxuries 
which Queens could not, two centuries ago; that 
we can travel ten times faster, and can send a mes- 
sage ten thousand times sooner, than King Alfred 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 253 

himself could have done — suppose we can, what 
then? what trifles, after all, are all these things 
alongside of good health, good spirits, a cool head, 
and a heart free from care — we certainly are not 
anything like so strong or healthy or hearty or 
merry as were these same contempories of Eng- 
land's glorious King, and it would take a pretty 
able lawyer, I think, to show that we are substan- 
tially wiser and better. 



I MET my irritable neighbor again in the 

street, to-day — oh, what a frenzy he was in. " What 
is the matter, my dear fellow?" I asked. "Why 
you are as pale as a ghost — fists clenched, too — 
what are you muttering?" " The infernal scoun- 
drel ; how I should like to break every bone in that 
vile carcass of his." " What scoundrel? whose car- 
cass? I see nobody — pray, what is the matter? 
who has provoked you thus?" " Hang him, I 
don't know tvho he is — I never exchanged a word 
with him in my life — I don't even know the dog's 
name." " What, and wasting all this wrath upon 
a stranger ? fie, fie, how can you give way to such 
feelings?" "Yes, a stranger; but what of that? 



254 MUTTERINGS AND 

Haven't I met him every day now, for the last five 
years? Haven't we regularly looked daggers at 
each, other, all that time? Curse his" — "Oh, for 
shame, man, for shame — is it manly, is it decent, to 
have no more control over yourself^ than this? 
Besides, why can't you turn your eyes away, when 
you see the fellow coming?" "I tell you I can't — 
nor he, either, confound him — ^there seems to be 
some infernal fascination about the thing — ^ther'll be 
a murder, a murder, I tell you, come out of it yet." 
" But how absurd, how ungentlemanly." " Oh, 
you needn't put on that long face — it's mighty easy 
to preach about these matters. I tell you, I liate 
the puppy, hate him. Ugh — I couldn't sit in the 
same room with the scoundrel's portrait, even. 
WouldyiH I have it down from the walls, wouldn't 
my heel be through his vile phiz, in a twinkling. 
I'm glad I donH know the scamp's name — a dis- 
gusting one, I dare say — the very sound of it would 
make me sick — the very sight of it, on a hotel 
register, of the initials of it on a trunk, would 
throw me into a fever — ugh!" I saw it was of no 
use to talk to a man, in this condition — so on I 
went. What a pity, what a pity, that a poor fel- 
low should be afflicted in this way — that he should 
be the slave of such a terrible temper, of such 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 255 

abominable caprices — bow silly, bow paltry it 
makes bim appear. How many men, now, are 
tbere, infinitely inferior to bim in all substantial 
qualities, tbat yet cut a vastly more respectable 
figure in tbe world, simply because tbey can bold 
tbe reins, wbile be cannot — men, too, wbo baving 
little or no pepper in tbeir own composition, can 
make no allowance for tbe frigbtful preponderance 
of it in bis — pblegmatic, pbarisaical wretcbes, tbey 
will even sbake tbeir beads, wben tbey bear speak 
of bim — will point bim out in tbe streets to tbeir 
cbildren, as a terrible example — and yet, tbere is 
more real wortb, more genuine sensibibty in bim, 
tban in ten tbousand sucb solemn bumbugs. Hang 
tbem, wben would they ever, (as I bave known bim 
do, more tban once,) get up from tbeir warm beds, 
to keep a poor drunken brotber from freezing to 
deatb ? catcb them sitting up, nigbt after nigbt, 
witb a sick, friendless stranger. But tbis man is 
perpetually doing sucb tbings — yes, tbis very man, 
wbo will fly into sucb fits of causeless wratb at 
times, wbo will rave so absurdly, wbo will make 
sucb a pitiful, and at tbe same time, ludicrous ex- 
bibition of bimself, I bave reason to know, bas been 
playing tbe good Samaritan, in tbis way, almost 
every nigbt for a montb past. Sucb is tbe native, 



256 MUTTERINGS AND 

radical kindness of Ms heart. Oh Lord, what 
strange inconsistencies in character one is seeing 
continually, in this inexplicable enigma of a world 
of ours. I dare say, the other man, who was the 
occasion of this sudden explosion of temper on 

's part, is just such another specimen as 

himself. I have no doubt, that if the two could be 
fairly brought together, and were to have five min- 
utes' talk and explanation of matters, it would end 
in their being firm friends for the rest of their lives 
— but it is altogether unlikely that any such eclair- 
cissement will ever occur. It seems fated that most 
of us should go through the world without under- 
standing each other — and so, these men, who ought 
to be playing Damon and Pythias, this very mo- 
ment, will, in all human probability, keep up this 
same scowling and growling in the street, so long 
as their powers of locomotion last. Well, well — T 
can sympathize with them — at least, with the weak 
part of them. I have just such another temper of 
my own — no doubt /should have got up the same 

head of steam that was under, this morning 

— at the same short notice too, and with no better 
reason — nay, did I not, as it was, behave abomina- 
bly? I did not, to be sure, make a phenomenon of 
myself, in pubhc, as he did, but I disgraced myself 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. '257 

at home — and all for what ? simply, because my 
tailor disappointed me. Did I not, sliame on me, 
consign his eyes to the lowest pit? Did I not, 
mentally, discharge at his head an incalculable 
amount of stones, glass, crockery, boots, boot-jacks, 
filth of all sorts ? Did I not wish him all manner 
of disasters, by flood and field ? a martyr to corns, 
a victim to pickpockets, a receiver of bad money, 
left behind by steamboats, his luggage for ever 
going one way and he the other, caught in perpetual 
showers, an eternal sipper of cold coffee and sour 
claret ? Yes, every contemptible wish that could 
enter into the head of a peevish, whimsical, irrita- 
ble wretch. Such is this beautiful temper of mine, 
heightened and embellished, no doubt, by being 
united to such a lovely, vigorous frame as I have 
the honor of lugging about the earth. It will 
never be any better, I fear. I see nothing but 
fuss, scolding, tumult ahead — weak and wrong as 
it is, to give way so, still, things don't seem to 
mend with me — I shall keep it up in this style to the 
last. I foresee that I shall make a most unseemly, 
discreditable exodus of it. I shall not give up the 
ghost, like a good Christian, no, not even like a 
gentleman — I think I see myself, now, cursing the 
nurses, blowing up the doctors, railing at my medi- 



268 MUTTERINGS AND 

cines, smashing phials, pounding pillows, doing* 
every thing that is disgraceful, and inappropriate — ■ 
yes, kicking, scolding, scuffling, to the very last 
verse of the dreary, dismal chapter — what a finale 
— ^heigh-ho — heigh-ho ! 



'TwAS my destiny, to-day, to sit opposite that 

horrible old glutton , at dinner. Heavens, 

what an exhibition he made of himself — with what 
rapidity, energy, inflexibility of purpose, with what 
awfully destructive results, did he play his part — 
as to not looking at him, that was quite out of the 
question. I was completely fascinated, spell-bound 
by the terrific performance. And to think, that at 
the end of it all, the old wretch should complain of 
not having his usual appetite. I thought I should 
have choked, in the vain attempt to keep my 
countenance. For more than half a century, now, 
has this furious trencherman been waging this deso- 
lating war against the good things of the earth. 
Vain, indeed, would it be to ask, frightful, indeed, 
would it be to discover, how many head of cattle, 
flocks of sheep, droves of turkej^s, flights of minor 
birds, how many shoals of fish, how many tons of 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 259 

bread and cheese, how many pipes of wine and ale, 
have fallen victims, in this sanguinary, this tre- 
mendous campaign. And still is the old warrior 
as eager for the fray as ever — still doth that capa- 
cious, that insatiate maw cry out with the horse- 
leech, give, give, give — still do those faithful grind- 
ers ply their ceaseless task. "So was it, when he 
was a child. So is it, now he is a man." So will 
it be, till the great Prince of Gluttons shall pounce 
upon his victim ; when, by the great law of retri- 
butive justice, " this desolator desolate, this victor 
overthrown," shall himself become a dish. Ah, if 
this man were to serve his country with one-half 
the fidelity and zeal that he doth his stomach, what 
a model patriot our happy land might boast of— or 
were he to make kindred sacrifices upon the altar 
of his faith, what a second Luther we should have 
amongst us to startle and reform this wicked age. 
Faith, forsooth ! the market-place contains the arti- 
cles of this man's faith ; the table is his solemn tem- 
ple ; the bill of fare his ritual, and he the most 
single-minded, the most devout of worshippers. 
And behold the beautifnl results of this devotion. 
Behold that pot-bellied, crimson-visaged, heavy- 
eyed mass of flesh and blood — all symmetry of form, 
all expression of face lost, swallowed up in fat ; all 



260 MUTTERINGS AND 

energy of mind, all alacrity of body, all sensibility 
to the grand or beautiful, quite smothered, buried 
alive under that bloated, that unwholesome load of 
flesh ; a conscience, too, that is slumbering on its 
post ; a soul, torpid almost unto death — unsightly, 
useless cumberer of the earth — neither fit to live, 
nor to die— ere long to be huddled into an obscure 
grave, unwept, unhonored, and unsung. Is Ms a 
grave to be decked with roses, or to be moistened 
with the tears of friendship, or of love? Justice 
forbid. As he soweth, so let him reap ; like a 
beast hath he elected to live, like a beast, then, let 
him perish; else what meaning, what value were 
there in the laurels that clasp the patriot's brow, in 
the monuments we raise to long-suffering virtue ? 
Still, this gross epicure, this miserable devotee to 
flesh and sense, is my brother ; ought I not, then, 
to sympathize with him, to weep over him, to do 
all I can to reclaim him, instead of sneering at or 
frowning upon him? Heaven only knows the 
power of the temptations that have thus overcome 
him — knows what strange, sad peculiarities of tem- 
perament he may have inherited. Rebuke him not, 
then, but aid him to return to the true path — urge 
him by every possible motive to abandon this la- 
mentable, this soul -starving, body-stuffing career 



IIUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 261 

True, true — but is the attempt a practicable one ? 
Is it so easy a thing to break these iron chains of 
habit ? Pray, how are you to get at that soul, all 
the avenues to which are thus obstructed, blocked 
up ? Is it not hopelessly benighted, incarcerated 
in that vast prison-house of flesh ? What tones of 
truth or wisdom can penetrate those thick walls of 
sense ? What, save the liberating hand of death, 
can ever let in the glorious light of day upon that 
unhappy captive ? Alas ! if it be so, indeed — 
meanwhile, let me look to my own life; let me 
purify my own heart, chastise my own appetites, 
frown down rebelHous and unholy thoughts — let 
my conscience be ever on the alert, an unsleeping 
sentinel, ever ready to sound the alarm to virtue ; 
so may I hope to escape those rocks on which my 
poor erring brother seems likely to perish. 



Had a call this morning from my friend , 

He was as hearty, cordial, enthusiastic as ever. He 
had been to hear Jenny Lind last night. How 
he did go on about her, to be sure ! How he 
did fling the epithets about! "Such a voice — such 
a woman ; you vmM go, my dear fellow — you must 



262 MUTTERINGS AND 

not throw away this glorious opportunity." I told 
him I thought it would be unwise for a sickly, deli- 
cate man like me to stem such a crowd, to expose 
myself to any such violent excitements. " Don't 
be alarmed about that ; I'll see that a good seat is 
secured for you. Go you must ; you never heard 
such singing. There never was, there never will 
be anything like it, this side Heaven." And so he 
went on. He is always in the same gale of excite- 
ment ; 'twas so when Ole Bull was here. I remem- 
ber going with him to one or two of his concerts. 
How completely carried away he was — such ap- 
plause ; never were two hands knocked together 
with such fervor before. If he had had as many 
as Briareus, 'twould have been all the same ; the 
whole fifty pair would have been going together, 
with the same vehement energy. Gabriel Eavel 
was another of his weaknesses. He seemed to get 
perfectly beside himself with laughter and wonder 
at the jokes and the feats of that prince of fun, that 
amazing Acrobat. He has at times manifested 
these feelings to such a degree, that loud cries of 
order, order, put him out, have been the conse- 
quence. Poor fellow ! he was utterly unconscious, 
that while rendering this generous, this overflowing 
tribute of admiration to genius, he himself had 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 26L) 

all at once become the prominent performer in the 
scene. It may readily be imagined how such a 
man would behave on the Rhigi, or at Chamouni, 
or Niagara, or any of those great headquarters of 
the sublime and beautiful in nature. Ah ! 'tis 
deUghtful to see such heartiness, such enthusiasm. 
It must be confessed, though, that it is not always 
expended upon scenes or artists that have such a 
legitimate claim upon it as the above ; my friend's 
judgment is by no means so good as his heart; oh, 
no ; he has made some terrible mistakes in his day. 
His love of novelty, his hankering after new sources 
of excitement, have played the mischief with him, 
at times ; he certainly has been severely bitten by 
some most atrocious humbugs. What a dance 
mesmerism led him, for instance; how many 
trashy books has he bought, how many gatherings 
has he attended, how many vile impostors have 
had him by the button, in connection with this 
subject, for the last five years ; all that time has he 
been on the lookout for amazing developments, as 
he calls them, for astounding spiritual discoveries ; 
they have not come along yet— they never will come ; 
he himself begins at last to think so, begins to 
feel that the whole thing is essentially a swindle — 
not an unmitigated swindle, perhaps ; no doubt, in 



264 MUTTERINGS AND 

all this cliasing after wonders, this hunting after mir- 
acles, some valuable facts have been laid hold of, 
some few precious grains of truth have been added 
to the Treasury of Knowledge ; still, who is not con- 
vinced that the whole system, as now paraded 
before the world, is substantially a humbug, found- 
ed in fraud, kept up by impudence, nourished by 
credulity? Hydropathy, too, with what earnest- 
ness he took hold of that subject, with what zeal 
did he expend his praises and his pence, in its 
behalf — what floods of eloquence has he poured out 
upon it — and what does it amount to ? Has any 
really new and valuable information been commu- 
nicated to the world ? the idea that men have been 
in possession of the element for thousands and 
thousands of years, using it all the time, too, drink- 
ing it, diving and dabbling in it, in every conceiv- 
able way, and yet, till now, have been profoundly 
ignorant of its true virtues and offices — who's going 
to believe any such monstrous statement as this ? 
the idea that water is going to revolutionize all 
medical science — that the whole Materia Medica is 
to be swept out of the way, in this summary style, 
poh ! Why, what did the Lord give us all these 
herbs, and roots, and earths, and salts, and minerals 
for ? What are we going to do with them ? Nay, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 2G5 

what an insult this theory is, to the great Physician 
himself, who, with his own kind hands, hath mixed 
our medicines for us, and hath caused them to spring 
out of the earth, in copious fountains, and in 
pleasant places, surrounding them with health- 
ful airs and charming scenery, as if expressly 
inviting, urging his children to come, and drink, 
and be cured — why, every mineral spring gives 
the lie to such atrocious pretensions. him- 
self begins to take this view of the subject, begins 
at least to admit that there is a large infusion of 
quackery in the system — 'tis his way — he is ever 
ready to recant, on cause shown — ever open to con- 
viction — 'tis delightful indeed, the amiable, cordial 
way in which he acknowledges his errors. Oh, 
how different from most enthusiasts — as a general 
thing, what a conceited, petulant, overbearing, 
domineering set they are ; more so than ever, it 
would seem, in this enlightened age and land of 
ours — ^how many are there of these same pestilent 
fellows, in this very community ; most provoking, 
most inconsistent of mortals. Bigoted Eadicals, 
persecuting reformers, tyrannical advocates of lib- 
erty, men who are for ever prating about truth, 
progress, principle, freedom of opinion — and yet 
who are ready to fly into a fever, if you take the 



266 MUTTERINGS AND 

liberty of having an opinion of your own — whose 
whole lives betray the hollowness of their preten- 
sions — who only want the authority, to be just as 
great despots, to be just as ready to chop off the 
heads of their opponents, as ever Persian Sophi 
was, or Arabian Caliph — he is no such man — no, 
indeed — he is as kind-hearted as he is impulsive ; 
whether you agree with him, or disagree with him, 
he is the same excellent friend, the same hearty, 
genial, glorious fellow. Ah dear me — I shall never 
forget one absiu'd scrape that this sanguine, go- 
ahead disposition of his got him into ; 'twas at a 
time, when balloon ascensions were much more 
common than they are now. had long en- 
tertained the notion, that a little voyage of this 
kind would be alike agreeable and instructive — he 
confessed, he had an ardent longing to see how our 
old Alma Mater of an earth looked, from that posi- 
tion — in fact, the novelty and excitement of the 
thing were quite irresistible — so he made his ar- 
rangements with , the aeronaut to be his com- 
panion in his next air-trip — to keep the affair quiet, 
no announcement was made in the bills to that effect 
— unluckily, or rather, most luckily, his friends got 
wind of the thing, but only a short hour or two be- 
fore the star ward journey was to come off — they 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 26 Y 

were greatly shocked, of course — the idea of his 
periling Jm valuable life, in this visionary way — it 
must not be — no, no — to be sure, no man was bet- 
ter prepared, no man fitter for heaven, so far as 
mere human merits were concerned — no doubt he 
would make an admirable, useful, influential angel, 
an ornament to the heavenly courts — but he 
couldn't be spared, yet awhile, he was making al- 
together too many of his friends happy on earth — 
there were plenty that might go, if they chose — 
then, if the parachute were not disposed to do its 
duty, or if the bag itself should take a notion to 
burst, they could be resigned to the result — society 
would probably be a gainer by the transaction. 
But there was no time for reflections like these — 
this thing must be prevented — there was not a 
moment to be lost — where luas the man ? Nobody 
could find him — as to laying violent hands upon 
him, at the very last moment, that would never do — 
a man of his ardent temperament, too — the crowd 
would no doubt side with him, in the matter — it 
might end in a most disgraceful row. Ah yes — we 
have it — swear an assault and battery on him — get 
out a warrant instanter, and let an ofiicer post 
down to the Garden ^vith it, forthwith — no sooner 
said than done — away went the man of law — he ar- 



268 MUTTERINGS AND 

rived in the very nick of time. liad abso- 
lutely got one leg over the basket, when the words, 
I have a warrant for you, struck his astounded ear 
— it must have been a rich scene, that — what, with 
the bustling movement and eager inquiries of the 
crowd, his look of mingled amazement and indigna- 
tion, the mute wonder of the aeronaut, and the 
beautifully imperturbable deportment of the depu- 
ty, the earnest remonstrance of the disappointed 
voyager, his tardy recognition of the supremacy of 
the law, his final exit under the wing of the offi- 
cer, amidst the cheers and jeers of the multitude, 
altogether, the thing must have been intensely dra- 
matic — no man appreciated more thoroughly than 
he did the absurdity of the whole transaction, 
when it was once fairly explained to him, and even 
now, if any allusion is made to it, he will erow like 
a cock, for a good half hour. Well, he'll never 
change, I suppose — he'll keep the pot boiling in the 
same lively way, to the close — ever keeping a 
bright lookout for the novelties of the day, ever 
ready to go all lengths for any scheme that promi- 
ses to benefit the condition of his brethren, be it 
sound, or be it plausible. And when he goes, 
surely, no spirit will ever have left the earth, more 
thoroughly alive to the wonders and glories in store 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 269 

for it, more thoroughly disposed to render all hap- 
py about it, in whatever sphere it may be called 
upon to act. 



So old is dead at last — after reeling 

and cursing about the earth, for the last five- 
and-twenty years, he is now quietly undea: it — 
yes, he is now put to bed for good — not a tear, 
not a prayer, not a solitary friend followed him 
to his miserable grave. Poor, worthless wretch — 
if from the body of the fair and pure Ophelia, 
love bade sweet violets spring, oh, what vile net- 
tles, what unsavory weeds, must needs start forth 
from thy loathsome and unsightly carcass. Truly, 
the air seems to be sweeter, the skies brighter, since 
the removal of this nuisance — there seems to be one 
monster the less for dogs to bark at, for little chil- 
dren to be frightened at. And to think, that this 
poor creature was once a fine, spirited fellow, with 
a handsome, ingenuous countenance, with good 
talents, bright prospects, with every inducement 
under heaven to keep straight, and to make him- 
eelf useful and respectable ; and that he should 
thus wilfully have thrown himself away, have 



2 70 MUTTERINGS AND 

turned himself into a perfect torment to all about 
him ; have become the theme of alternate mockery 
and pity to the whole neighborhood ; and at last 
have wound up his career in this frightful, ignomini- 
ous manner ; to think, too, how many millions have 
done the very same thing before him ; how many 
are doing it now; how many, alas, will do it, even 
to the very crack of doom ! Oh, is it not frightful ? 
Why does the Lord permit these things? Why 
does he not rise in his anger, and extirpate, at once 
and for ever, from the earth, this curse, this enemy 
of our race? What other enemy is to be named 
with it ? What are all the mischiefs that have be- 
fallen man, through war, famine, pestilence, ship- 
wreck, murder, through all other causes put to- 
gether, compared with the daily, universal, crushing 
conquests of this Arch-Destroyer ? — Nay, what are 
even its open, notorious victories over human life 
and happiness, compared with the incalculable 
amount of secret wretchedness that it is for ever 
working in the world ? Oh how many, many are 
there, who, while never positively exposing, dis- 
gracing, ruining themselves, are yet secretly cher- 
ishing this viper in their bosoms ; are clouding their 
faculties, injuring their good looks, souring their 
tempers, embittering and shortening their days, 



MUSTXGS OF AX INVALID. 27 1 

for ever manufacturing troubles at the same time 
that they are disqualifying themselves to meet the 
real troubles of life, cheating themselves out of all 
wholesome pleasures, not making one hundredth 
part out of the world that they might, either in the 
way of duty or of enjoyment. Oh what infatua- 
tion, what frightful wasting of one's powers, and 
one's privileges ! — yet, what multitudes are continu- 
ally throwing away their lives thus — it makes one 
shudder to think of it. Eum, however, was not the 
immediate instrument of this poor wretch's death, 
but chloroform ; he resorted to it, of course, for the 
express purpose of putting himself out of the way, 
in the easiest and pleasantest manner possible — yes, 
in this pitiful, cowardly manner did he sneak out 
of life — perverting Heaven's kind gift to his own 
vile purposes. The last sentiment that he was 
heard to give utterance to, and that with a round 
oath, was one of utter disbelief in a future state. 
Glorious farewell speech — beautiful leave-taking, to 
be sure ! — that he was any more sincere than sober, 
\\'hen he made it, is quite unlikely ; it was, more 
probably, a kind of whistling by way of keeping 
up his courage — for, perverted as his faculties all 
were, he surely could not have had the insolence 
and foUv to expect any such snug and comfortable 



272 MUTTERINGS AND 

termination to liis career as this. What, man, after 
spending the better part of your Hfe in the service 
of Kum ; after breaking all the laws of Grod and 
man ; trampling on everything holy and lovely ; 
outraging the feelings of your family and friends ; 
daily brutifying your own nature, — after all this, 
have you the face to say, that nothing now remains 
but to lie down, and take a sweet, dreamless, endless 
sleep ? Have you the impudence to hope, that by 
means of so cheap and paltry a dodge as chloro- 
form, forsooth, or prussic acid, you may be able to 
give the slip, alike to the pangs of Death, and to the 
terrors of E-etribution ? oh, no, no, no — there is no 
need of quoting Scripture on the occasion. Common 
sense and common justice rise simultaneously from 
their seats and protest aloud against any such mon- 
strous assumption, and insist upon it, that condign 
punishment must and shall be inflicted upon so vile 
a sinner as this — the nature and duration of that 
punishment, it is not for us poor, erring brother 
mortals to know — but that come it will, who does 
not feel it in his very bones ? else were life a sorry, 
dreary farce indeed, and human laws a cruel mock- 
ery. Yes, ere now, perhaps, has this poor soul 
commenced its long career of suffering — released, at 
last, from that diseased body, that heat-oppressed 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 273 

brain, hath it not already acquired a vigor and ca- 
p.K-ily, unknown to Earth? Is not Conscience 
already upon its feet, never more to be overthrown 
<jr trampled on ? Hath not Memory already se- 
cured in her grasp every fragment of the past, 
never more to be wrested from her ? Hath not 
Reason gained a far loftier throne, from which she 
can never more be deposed ? And must these en- 
larged capacities, these sharpened perceptions, be 
ceaselessly directed upon self? Is there no running 
away from consciousness, no evasion ? no skulking 
behind sleep, or ether? no refuge in the bowl? 
What horrible condition of soul is this, when its 
every faculty is thus turned into a minister of ven- 
geance against itself — when every recollection is a 
piercing arrow, every thought a sentence of death, 
every vision of the imagination is full of armed 
and angry spectres. What hell more dreadful 
could bigot invent, or sinner suffer, than this. It 
might, perhaps, have been with reference to physi- 
cal torments, that this poor besotted wretch tried 
so hard to find comfort in the idea of annihilation 
— but oh, what are physical sufferings, compared 
with these? and how long are they to last? for 
ever and ever ? the thought is too horrible — it can- 
not be — no, deep and bitter as needs must be the 
12* 



274 MUTTERINGS AND 

draught which the poor sinner is compelled to take, 
surely, surely there is a drop of hope lingering at 
the bottom of the cup. Surely there is a final day 
of redemption, and of happiness. Meanwhile, God 
have mercy on his wretched, but justly suffering 
soul ! 



A FEW short hours since, and the eighteen hun 
dred and fiftieth volume of the new series of Time's 
Earthly Works was finished, and deposited by the 
Recording Angel in the archives of Heaven. And 
already is that most diligent, most truthful of his- 
torians hard at work upon the next. Oh, what 
endless, yet what vain and idle speculations are sug- 
gested to the imagination by this thought ! Who 
is this heavenly compiler? What associates hath 
he, in his unceasing labors ? From what point of 
space doth he survey this restless ball of ours ? 
On what mysterious leaves, with what magic pen, 
in what unknown language are his records in- 
scribed ? Where is the celestial Library, whose al- 
coves contain these innumerable, these all-revealing 
histories? And are all the transactions of Earth 
here faithfully depicted, be they great or small, 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID, 21 5 

public or private, Christian or Pagan ? Does the 
same volume that recites the virtues of a Washing- 
ton, take note of the humble, unlettered goodness 
that lies hid in some secluded mountain dell, or 
that praises God in some far-off log-house of the 
wilderness ? The same historian that lays bare the 
deep, the Titanic wickedness of a Napoleon, does 
he also duly mark and brand the petty villanies of 
every low-browed scoundrel of St. Giles's? Is the 
same page, jjerhaps, whereon are inscribed the 
sweet hymns and prayers of childhood, stained with 
the ribald blasphemies of some foul nest of pirates ? 
Is nothing lost, then ? What, are all the burning 
words of orators, the passionate outpourings of 
lovers, the brilliant sallies of wits, the drowsy 
speeches of legislators, the quibbles of special 
pleaders, the mocks of wicked, and the groans of 
dying men, are they all treasured up in these au- 
thentic histories ? Is it to no purpose, then, that 
we destroy our ill-considered writings, take back 
our hasty words, suppress our evil thoughts ? Do 
they still live, and are they to be published against 
us ? Horrible, horrible ! When, then, oh when 
are these mysterious, these terrible details to be 
disclosed? Is it to be on some grand day of au- 
dience and of judgment, before all the assembled 



276 MUTTERINGS AND 

souls of the cliildren of men ? or does each one of 
us, immediately on leaving earth, hear and receive, 
according to the deeds done in the body ? And 
oh, what is to be our portion, when confronted with 
and judged by these not-to-be-questioned records? 
Where is this heaven, or this hell that awaits us ? 
In what part of the boundless realms of space ? 
These other planets of our system, too, are they 
also inhabited by moral and accountable beings, 
whose daily thoughts, words, and deeds are thus 
transcribed for purposes of judgment? Are all 
these systems of the universe but so many expan- 
sions of the same great scheme of discipline? or 
are certain portions of creation set apart as theatres 
where the great drama of probation is for ever enact- 
ed, and others selected for the wonderful realities 
of retribution? Which of those two sparkling 
stars, then, is the abode of the just made perfect, 
and which the eternal residence of the lost ? Or 
is there no eternal residence for the soul? and 
are all these worlds so many points at which 
we commence, or stages through which we pass, in 
the progress of a journey that knows no end ? 
Ah, dear ! who hath not asked, who is not contin- 
ually asking these questions ? — so natural, and a.t 
the same time so terrible; so familiar to the mind, 



I 
I 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALIl^ ^11 

and yet so utterly inexplicable? Eevelation cer- 
tainly does not condescend to answer them, save in 
the merest generalities, and Nature's voice returns 
but vague and indistinct mutterings ; the hints that 
Science furnishes, sublime as the}'- may be, yet are 
they not far more calculated to bewilder, appal, 
overwhelm us, than to inspire or yield us comfort ? 
what a withering, blighting sense of insignificance 
seems to attach to Earth and earthly things. Vir- 
tue itself loses heart and is afraid lest, in the mys- 
terious arrangements of God, it should be over- 
looked — cheated out of its future existence. Vice 
becomes more hardened and reckless than ever, as 
if it felt sure, through its very littleness, of slipping 
through the fingers of Almighty Justice. Eeputa- 
tion hardly rises to the dignity of a bubble, and 
Fame, alas, the loudest blast of her trumpet sinks 
into the faintest echo of the feeblest whisper — " the 
great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit" scarcely 
seems to be an appreciable quantity in the universe, 
and no more to be missed, were it suddenly plucked 
out of creation, than a berry would be from a bush, 
an apple from a crowded tree. But oh, can this be 
the true view of ourselves, or of our position in the 
vast scale of being? — no, no — we are not such 
obscure, such insignificant creatures in God's eyes ; 



278 MUTTERINGS AND 

this dear earth of ours — has not heavenly wisdom 
contrived it, planted and watered it, filled it with 
life and beauty, endowed it with light and motion, 
subjected it to wondrous laws, prescribed for it a 
glorious pathway in the skies, entrusted it to guar- 
dian angels, nay, assigned to it this same celestial 
overseer and historian, whose labors know no 
pause, whose records cannot err? Surely some great 
end is contemplated in all these wondrous plans. 
Can that be so very paltry and worthless an object, 
on which so much thought and care and kindness 
have been expended ? Not only do mortified pride 
and alarmed vanity, but reason and good sense also, 
remonstrate, protest against this belittling view of 
man, and his relations to his Maker ; this view, 
which so discourages all that is excellent, and 
arouses all that is diabolical within us. But oh, 
how much more potent and triumphant is the voice 
of Christianity on this subject ! " What, they of no 
account in his eyes, to whom God has given, not 
only so many good things, and noble faculties, but 
so many special messengers also, fraught with glad 
tidings and solemn warnings and precious prom- 
ises? — nay, who hath himself come down from 
Heaven to visit and enlighten and redeem them ?" 
Happy the man, who can ask this question in good 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 279 

faith — who is not shamming in this matter, who is 
not merely acquiescing in these truths, but in his 
very heart and soul adopts them, and manfully acts 
up to thejn. K these things be so, indeed, what a 
delightful position he occupies ; if they should turn 
out to be an illusion, still what a charming, glorious 
illusion — an illusion that tends alike to cheer the 
heart and mend the life, to make a man a blessing 
to those about him, an ornament to his race, Avho 
wouldn't cherish it ? But, to look at this matter 
again, as a poor natural man, is there, after all, in 
the phenomena which Science discloses or suggests, 
anything to force us to take such frightfully humble 
ground, and to make us out such a contemptible 
portion of creation ? If mere bulk, indeed, is to be 
the measure of value, our little planet must certainly 
cut a pretty sorry figui'e in the skies, alongside of its 
unwieldy brethren Jupiter and Saturn, for instance. 
But may we not have the advantage of them both, 
in matters of far more consequence ? As in the 
earth itself, there are favored tracts, alike removed 
from the heat of the equator and the polar cold, 
in which alone are to be found the highest mani- 
festations of beauty, the rarest exhibitions of intel- 
lect, may it not be the same thing in the system ? 
may we not have a far more felicitous position in 



280 MUTTERINGS AND 

that system, for the development of physical and 
intellectual excellence, than either the inhabitants 
of Mars or Venus, or than those of the greater and 
more distant planets ? may not our little orb, after all, 
then, be far more precious in the eyes of its Maker 
than its huge brethren ? may not our little selves, 
with all our crimes and follies, be far nobler pro- 
ducts of Divine Wisdom, than their inhabitants — a 
race, for aught we know, of clumsy, feeble-witted, 
malignant giants ? Why not take comfort in tliat 
thought, as well as be cowed down by the oppo- 
site? May not conjecture, poor, wandering child 
of ignorance, be allowed to stray in one direction 
as well as another ? But, after all, why indulge at 
all in such vain and unprofitable conjectures? 
Are they not quite too much, even for the strongest 
nerves, the clearest heads, the purest hearts ? What 
right, then, have I, poor, frail, feeble, ignorant 
sinner that I am, to try to fathom these awful 
depths, to puzzle my poor brains with these bewil- 
dering speculations ? Better, far better, confine 
myself to the humble sphere of duty assigned me, 
to do all I can, in my small way, towards making 
this earth of ours, or at least the little corner of it 
in which I am called to act, more worthy of the 
Great Founder — more comfortable, and beautiful, 



J 



MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 281 

and enlightened, and happy — the home of peace 
and good will — and to leave it, at last, not in a 
murmuring, struggling, rebellious spirit, but calmly 
and hopefully awaiting the great mysteries of the 
future. — 

" Hope humbly, then, on trembling pinions soar, 
Wait the great teacher Death, and God adore." 



3lvT7-9 



